


Run Until You Feel Your Lungs Bleeding

by whisperingwind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist Harry, Complicated Relationships, Disabled Character, Discrimination, Eventual Smut, Famous Louis, Fluff and Angst, Frustration, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Famous Harry, Protectiveness, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 92,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingwind/pseuds/whisperingwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s hands tremble, carelessly ripping each of his paintings, one by one, until his studio is littered with not only remnants of his masterpieces, but his despondency. "You don't love me." he accuses, tugging on the roots of his hair. "You never loved me. You pity me! And to make it worse, you told everyone that you pity me! You promised you would never..." his voice fades as soon as his cries intensify.</p><p>Louis can't manage to say anything. His eyes wander, gazing over each item that once made Harry happy, and he shakes his head. Harry spent years building the ambiance of his studio and it's been destroyed in mere minutes, thanks to him. "Harry I...no, that isn't true. Whatever you think you heard, I swear to god isn't true. I care about you more than - "</p><p>"Get out!" Harry screams, pointing to the door. His chest heaves with sobs. "You said it doesn't matter that I can't walk. You said I'm the most incredible person you've ever laid eyes on. Why did you lie to me?"</p><p>Or, Harry is an angry, starving artist isolating himself from the rest of society due to his disability. Louis is a pop-star pretending he doesn't care about anything, but when it comes to Harry, he cares too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Run Until You Feel Your Lungs Bleeding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11763705) by [malishka1011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malishka1011/pseuds/malishka1011)



> I decided to create this AU because I feel people with disability deserve more representation in not only the fandom, but society as a whole. Let it be known that I do not condone the vulgar language used by other characters to describe Harry, but to give the story a realistic twist, I felt it was necessary to use. 
> 
> Title is from "Run" by Hozier
> 
> Also, I do not have any medical background nor do I have any personal experience with cerebral palsy, but I do respect every single person who deals with disability. You're amazing and deserve more representation. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Trailer: https://youtu.be/yUde5RRlTBg

Nearly twenty minutes of waiting for a damned hamburger have passed and Louis Tomlinson is infuriated. Though, he isn't the only one. Old women stand behind him, bickering about the audacity this generation has, and a family of seven stand at the counter. The kids scream in agony and the dear mother is trying her hardest to calm the baby sobbing against her chest.

It was supposed to be a fast alternative to ordering Chinese take-out or going to a buffet, hence the phrase fast food, yet he hasn't moved forward at all since stepping into line.

All he originally wanted was a quick bite before heading over to Syco to discuss his band's new album,The Shame of Art. But, of course, nothing can possibly go his way when he seriously needs it to.

After keeping himself as best contained as he can, for as long as he can, Louis can’t hold in his comments any longer. “No wonder Burger King is losing customers to McDonald’s. Jesus Christ, this isn’t proper customer service. What the hell is going on up there?” His voice carries throughout the enterprise and everyone in listening vicinity grumbles in agreement.

The lady standing in front of him turns around. She's no older than mid-twenties, but dresses as a middle-aged woman with one too many cats at home. “The idiot working the register doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing and now I have to get back to work. Great. I wasted my entire lunch break waiting on that stupid fuck.”

And with those kind words she finds her way to the nearest exit. Louis’ eyes follow her as she storms out of the fast food joint and to her car. She wastes no time in abruptly slamming the blue minivan door shut and squealing her tires as she races out of the parking lot.

He slips into her spot. At least he's closer to the front and there’s one less person to listen to complain. He does a quick mental calculation. There’s six orders in front of him. If each runs smoothly and only takes two minutes, then he’ll be out and partially satisfied in about fifteen minutes.

He can deal with fifteen minutes. A little tardiness never killed anyone.

And anyways he hasn’t wasted twenty minutes of his utterly unorganized life for no reason. He’s going to get that hamburger one way or another, even if he has to get someone fired in the process.

One step at a time, he gradually reaches the front, and it's his turn to order. He's struggling to bite his tongue. He wants to tell the cashier off for putting him through a half an hour wait, but after getting a good look at him, he can’t find the words to say anything - let alone insult or berate him.

It’s a kid. There’s no way he’s any older than Louis is - in fact, he’s most likely a few years younger. Curly brunet hair cascades past his shoulders and his green eyes are brighter than stars in a cloudless night sky.

“Hi.” Bright eyes breathes, finds himself staring for a tad too long, and clears his throat to draw away from his blatant fonding. “Can I help you?”

Louis picks up on three things right away. Bright eyes is gorgeous, like proper runway fashion Gucci model gorgeous, and wow Louis has never seen anyone look so fit in a Burger King uniform.

But the other two things he’s noticed aren’t as positively inclined. They’re strange points of interest. Personality traits or just quirks, perhaps.

Bright eyes is significantly shorter than him, but soon he realizes that bright eyes is sat down on a chair - which is peculiar, considering customer service is brutal and any sign of laziness can get someone sacked in seconds. It’s more than that though, bright eyes speaks with slurred speech, but Louis knows he isn’t drunk - or at least, he doesn't think he is.

Bright eye’s voice breaks him away from his thoughts. “Hello?”

And that voice. Louis can hardly focus on anything other than that voice. It's deep, but not guttural or dissonant, and soothing.  

“Uh - yeah. My bad, sorry.” Louis tries to sound not too obviously interested. He casually glances up at the menu board, even though he already knows exactly what he wants and it isn’t food. He wants to take bright eyes for a ride, and in more ways than one.

Bright eyes watches on as he mentally decides what sort of tone to use when he orders his heart attack on a bun.

“Can I get a number two? But hold the onion and tomato.” He’s rather proud of himself. He sounds confident, but not cocky, and poised, but not robotic.

Christ. He’s way too concerned with impressing this stranger, this bloody beautiful stranger, sitting before him.

It’s not like he asked him to have a quickie in the bathroom. He ordered a fucking hamburger, yet here he is again making something a much bigger deal than it truly is.

“What size?”

Louis thinks for a moment. He slides his sunglasses off his face and clips them to the front of his shirt. “Go big or go home, right?”

Bright eyes nervously laughs. Louis focuses back on him and notices a name tag reading Harry pinned to his uniform.

“What to drink?”

Louis purrs. “ _God_.”  

Somehow it’s possible. Harry grows more anxious right in front of Louis’ own two eyes, face flushing, and eyes bulging. “What?”

“There’s too many options. I want you to pick for me. What’s your favorite drink?”

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know."

“Funny, I don’t believe I’ve heard of that flavor. Come on Harry, what do you like to drink?”

Louis knows he shouldn’t be checking Harry out right now, but how is he supposed to look away from such an exquisite man?

“I don't know.” Harry says, shyly. He lowers his head, trying his hardest not to look at Louis, and taps his fingers nervously against his thighs.

“Course you do. Everyone has a favorite soda. I like root beer.”

Harry swallows. “I’ll ring that up then.”

“Ah, ah, not so fast pretty boy.” Louis smiles. “I’m serious. I want you to pick for me. How about you surprise me?”

Harry glances up at Louis, blushing, and looks back down again. “Oh…okay." He types Louis’ order into the register and the machine responds with a god awful noise, something between a beep and a screech.

Louis isn’t very well off with technology himself, but he’s almost positive that cash registers aren’t supposed to make that sound. “First day on the job?”

“Not exactly.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you know what you’re doing then?”

The beeping stops and Harry hesitates for a moment. “You would think so.”

“I don’t mean to sound like an ass, but you’re going to get fired if you continue to slack off. You have quite a few angry customers." He leans in closer, whispering to Harry, "And unfortunately for you, your looks don’t make things better.”

“Yes...I know.” Harry taps another button on the machine, hoping to fix the problem, but to everyone’s dismay, the horrid beeping returns. The old women in line behind Louis scold Harry, calling him an "uneducated fool", and step out of line.

On a second thought, maybe Harry is drunk. Running a cash register isn't as difficult as he's making it out to be. “Maybe reevaluate? You shouldn’t come into work hungover.”

Harry is offended. He furrows his eyebrows and his lips pull into a taut line. “I’m not - what? What the hell makes you think I'm hungover?”

“Well for one you’re not speaking very clearly. I think you had one too many last night pal." Louis points out, completely ignorant of Harry’s shift in behavior.

He’s only trying to save Harry from getting fired.

Harry scoffs. “Excuse me?”

The manager, Louis assumes, comes out from behind the kitchen. His lips are tightly pursed and his eyes narrow permanently in disapproval. There’s no sign of any other emotion aside from anger - or maybe that’s frustration. Louis has always had trouble differing emotions from one another. “Harry! What is the problem? Why am I getting complaints? What did you do this time?"

Harry sighs and rubs at his face with his fist. “There’s not - It’s nothing sir.” He’s left a huge red mark on his forehead.

“Why is the register beeping again then? I thought I showed you how to fix it before. How fucking ignorant can you be?” Mr. Manager barks. Louis catches a glimpse of his name tag. His name begins with a T. Tyler or Tony, maybe.

Tony shoves his way in between Harry and the cash register, quite literally almost knocking him out of the chair he’s sat in, and Harry doesn’t even bother arguing. Louis watches his entire body rise and sink with a hefty sigh.

He guesses that this has happened on more than one occasion.

Tony stares at Harry, as if waiting for him to answer that rhetorical question of his, and Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat under his interrogating scowl.

There’s the other thing that’s been bothering Louis. He doesn't understand why Harry has been sat down this entire time. He's been sacked from enough jobs to know what a manager likes and dislikes and someone who displays signs of disobedience is definitely someone they dislike.

Tony turns his attention back to the register.

He clicks a few buttons on the surface of the machine, but his expression hardens and he glowers at Harry. “What the fuck did you do? I swear to god - this is what I get for hiring a fucking cripple.”

It dawns on Louis then. Harry isn’t a slacker and he isn’t hungover. He’s disabled.

And oh shit, does he feel like a dickhead.

It does make more sense though. The way Harry moves his lips when he talks isn’t normal, only one side of his mouth curves when he speaks, while the other side struggles to form around words.

He doesn’t enunciate, his words run together, and he doesn’t finish pronouncing each individual word. His vowels are drawn out in almost a whine.

Even though Louis made a mistake, he shouldn’t be held accountable for thinking that Harry was drunk. When people aren’t sober they speak like that, he’s seen the lads smoke enough weed to recognize the speech pattern.

Hell, he’s seen so many drunken videos of himself that he knows that’s exactly what he sounds like when he’s under the influence.

The last thing he needs from all of this is the press hearing about it. He would never live it down. Management would never stop scolding him for being rude towards a cripple. The world would use it against him even after he faded out of the spotlight, never to be heard of ever again and they’d still talk about his problematic actions.

He'd be making constant headlines: Louis Tomlinson the asshole who used his fame to poke fun at handicaps.

Fuck.

Harry sits still, wringing his hands together, and watches Tony as he tries to fix the register. His cheeks are flushed and Louis swears he can see tears forming in those bright eyes.

This is his chance. He can make things right and the media will never hear of this silly misunderstanding.

“Excuse me,” Louis tries to interrupt Tony as he continues to rant about what a terrible person Harry is. He ignores him until Louis repeats himself. “I said excuse me.”

Tony looks up and snaps at him. “What do you want?” Then, there’s a moment of silence. “Wait...I know you.”

“I don’t think you do. We’ve never met.”

“I do...aren’t you in that boyband? Uh - One Addition?" He guesses and rubs the back of his neck. "My daughter is a huge fan. Even has a cardboard cut-out of the blonde one.”

“One Direction. Yeah, I am,” He confirms, but he hardly sounds moved by Tony recognizing him - in fact he doesn’t sound remotely interested. “And you’re making me really uncomfortable by talking to your employee so disrespectfully.”

Harry peers up at Louis, doesn't speak a word, but his expression says it all for him. He hasn't had someone stand up for him before, not like this, and he admires Louis' courage.

At a loss for words, Tony blankly stares at Louis, stumbling over his thoughts. “I don’t -”

“You get off talking to him like that? He’s a human being." Louis leans on the counter. "He doesn’t deserve that. If he's such a hassle, why don't you fire him?"

“Okay,” Tony faces Harry, flatly says, without a second thought, “Harry, you’re fired. Get out.”

Harry stares at him in disbelief and then he glances towards Louis. “I - what? What did I do?”

“Get out.”

Harry's admiration becomes blinded by pure anger and hatred. “Thanks a lot.” he spits.

Louis’ shock is written all over his own features. He definitely didn’t expect for that to happen and for it to transpire so quickly is not a good thing either.

He shakes his head. He can’t believe this, but he can't find it within himself to apologize either. What is he supposed to say? I’m sorry I caused you to lose your job? “Uh - I, that’s not what I meant mate. You weren’t supposed to fire the lad.”

Tony only smiles, it's a devious smile, and his eyebrows raise with pleasure. “Thanks for the advice. I’ve wanted to get rid of him for a while, but I’d be in a shit load of trouble for firing him because he’s a cripple. Now, how about a signature for May?”

“No. I’ll - I’ll pass.” He’s still in shock. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Harry slowly rises from his chair, holding himself up by pushing his palms flat on the counter top, and reaches for something underneath the counter.

Tony berates him for not moving quick enough. “You’re going to have to leave today. Hurry it up. I don't have time for this bullshit.”

"That's enough of that. Leave him alone." Louis demands.

Harry holds a crutch in one hand and he cautiously bends down for the second one. One by one, he slips his arms in the forearm cuffs. He wraps his palms around the hand grips and his knuckles fade to white with the pressure he's applying.

Louis still can’t form any words when he watches Harry unsteadily hobble around the front counter. He tries his hardest not to look at his legs, but he can’t help himself, all of his attention is drawn to them. They’re pulled together, his feet are turned inward, and his knees knock together with nearly every step he takes. He’s understandably slow.

Louis finds this situation playing out in front of him to be strangely intricate. He’s never seen anyone walk like Harry before. It’s brand new to him, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable observing him, but he’s almost positive Harry is uncomfortable with having someone stare at his physical obstacles.

Harry’s face is set with concentration, bottom lip drawn between his teeth, almost as though a single distraction would be detrimental. Louis supposes it would be. He doesn’t want to see Harry fail and he’s only just met him.

“I’ll mail your last check. Don’t ever come back, you hear?”

Harry doesn’t bother thanking him. He doesn't even bother with a reply.

“Harry!” Louis calls after him, but he continues to stumble along. “Harry.” He tries again. Harry halts in front of the door, not because he’s going to wait for Louis, but because he can’t push the door open. Still, it gives Louis perfect opportunity.

Louis walks to Harry and holds the door open. Harry crutches past him, without even acknowledging the favor he’s done, and pauses in the vestibule when there’s another door.

Louis slips past him and holds the door leading to the parking lot open.  

“See. I’m good for something. I promise I -”

Harry interrupts him. “Shut up. I don’t even know you.”

“My names Louis.”

“Would have been nice to know your name before you got me fired.” Harry budges past once again.

Louis follows him outside. He has to be careful, there’s a higher chance that fans and paparazzi will spot him now that he’s out in the open. “Harry, come on, I'm sorry. I didn’t know he was going to fire you. I was defending you.”

Harry pauses in his actions. Steadily, he turns himself around to face Louis. “Defending me? I don’t need anyone to defend me.”

Louis remains silent.

“What? You think just because I’m disabled I need to be defended? I can’t walk on my own that must mean I’m totally helpless.”

Again, Louis doesn’t say a word.

“You do, don’t you? I don’t even know you man! I don’t need you or anyone coming to my rescue.”

Louis sighs. “I thought I was doing a good thing. You were upset.”

“Oh, so you’re one of _those_ people? If you help me out then you’re a saint for helping out a handicap is that it? Do I look like a charity case?” There's a brief moment of hesitance. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

“I’m really sorry I got you fired. I didn’t mean to, alright? It was an accident.”

Harry scoffs and his nostrils flare with anger. “Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just find another fucking place that hires cripples. Shouldn’t be that hard. I didn't need to pay my rent or anything."

“I’ll help you if you want.” Louis treads closer to grab Harry's arm, a gesture in which means no harm, he only wants to be of comfort, but Harry jerks away.

“I don’t even know you!”

“I’m Louis.”

“We’ve been over this." Harry laughs in disbelief. "I don’t fucking care who you are or who you think you are, because apparently you think you’re big shit or something.”

“I am. Well, sort of.”

Harry glares at Louis, skeptic of how much audacity the blue-eyed lad has, “Congratulations. Get away from me.” Harry begins to leave in the opposite direction of the employee cars.

Louis calls out to him. “How are you getting home?”

Harry freezes. “Excuse me?” He turns around. "What did you say?"

"I asked how you were getting home.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Well - it’s going to rain, I think, and I don’t - how long, realistically, can you walk on those? I can give you a ride home. It's the least I can do.”

Louis looks up towards the sky, observing the way the blue sky is beginning to intertwine with hues of grey, and smells the air. It’s going to rain. The airs beginning to shift in humidity and the scent of wet dog already fills the atmosphere.

“Listen, big shit, I don’t need you or anyone else doing me any more favors. I’m fine.”

“It’s not a favor. I don’t want you walking home alone in the rain and I’m already late for a meeting, I might as well make the most of my tardiness, right?”

“That makes no sense.” Harry argues.

“Are you going to argue with me or are you going to let me drive you home?”

Louis gestures for Harry to follow him. Harry does, but once he sees Louis’ car, he comes to a complete stop. “No way.”

“What?”

“You drive a Ferrari.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah...pretty cool, right?”

Harry's in shock. “This is like a 250,000 pound car.”

“262,000 actually.”

Harry continues to stare at the vehicle in awe. “That’s crazy. It’s a beautiful car.”

“Thank you?”  Louis’ voice raises in a question. He knows it’s a nice car, but not as nice as Harry is making it out to be. It only equates to a large piece of metal in his mind.

He opens the driver’s side door and leans inside. He runs his hand underneath the dash until he feels the lever to pop the trunk. “Okay, you can put your crutches in the trunk if you’d like.”

Harry stares at the open trunk and doesn’t say a word.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

He pivots himself to glance at Louis. His voice loses the venomous tone it held previously. "Louis - I can’t...can you put them back there once I get in the car?”

“Oh, right. It completely slipped my mind that you can’t - ah, nevermind. Sorry love.” The name of endearment slips past his lips before he can catch it. He hopes Harry hasn’t heard him, but the small smile on Harry’s face says otherwise.

Louis opens the passenger door for Harry. He stands nearby, uncertain of Harry’s ability, and waits for the first sign of trouble. But, it never comes.

Harry pulls himself into the car using the handle installed on the roof and Louis takes the crutches from him, “These are heavier than they look.” He says.

Harry shifts until he’s completely sat in the seat. “They’re weighted at the bottom.”

“I see.” Louis carries them back to the trunk. He sets them inside, shuts the lid, and walks back around front. He slides into the driver's and shuts the door. “You can plug your address into the GPS.”

Harry does so and he doesn't say a word to Louis. He stares out the passenger window, waiting for Louis to drive, but he still hasn't thought of anything to say.

As soon as Louis pulls onto the main road, rain begins to pelt down on his windshield, and he flips his windshield wipers on.

Soon enough, he manages to start conversation with Harry. "How do you normally get to and from work? Please don’t tell me you walk when it’s like this. The GPS says you live two miles from here.”

Harry glances over at him. “No. I can usually catch a taxi or the local bus.”

“Is that what you planned on doing today?”

Thunder claps in the sky and Harry nearly jumps out of his skin, but it doesn't even faze Louis. He's almost certain that he's immune to loud noises at this point.

“Yeah.”

Louis keeps his eyes set forward on the road. “You can’t drive then?”

“I can, in theory, but I don’t have my license.”

"What does that mean? In theory?"

"I can, sort of, but the government won't issue me a license."

Louis nods. Thunder and the light hum of the radio fill the void between the two of them.

“So, you’re one of those One Direction guys?” Harry asks. He can't help his curiosity.

“I am, yeah. You’ve heard of us?”

“Of course, yeah. I don’t live under a rock, y’know?" He breathlessly laughs. "My sister’s like a proper stalker fan of yours. Thought you looked a bit familiar.”

“How old is your sister?”

“Twenty six.”

Louis grins. "Has she ever been to one of our shows?"

"Are you kidding? Your tickets are expensive as hell. No way."

Louis' grin doesn't hold for long. "Oh."

"I mean - you're obviously loaded. What gives? Why is it three hundred pounds for a decent seat? Three hundred pounds doesn’t even guarantee someone a floor seat.”

Louis begins to rant in his defense. He can feel Harry’s lack of interest expanding. "We don't decide on ticket prices. It’s all up to our management. Girls are willing to pay anything to see us - and, yeah, guys too, but of course gents don’t like us as much as the ladies. So yeah. There’s that.”

Silence.

Louis quickly decides to propose an offer. "I could probably hook the two of you up with tickets - VIP passes maybe, if you wanted.”

"No - it's fine. I can't do concerts anyways."

Louis says. "Why not? We have a handicap section."

He doesn't realize what he's said until he's already said it and it's too late.

"You're disgusting." Harry blurts out. "I thought - maybe for a second there, you weren't a complete dick, but you go and say shit like that. For your information, I don't do concerts because crowds aren't my thing. I'm aware there's a handicap section. Idiot."

"I'm sorry Harry - I just, I've never - you know?"

"No. I don't know what the hell you're on about."

Louis runs a hand through his hair. God, he's an idiot. He's embarrassed and he hates himself more than anything right now. Both things make for a great combination. "What if, uh, the two of you watched the show from backstage then?"

"Why are you trying so hard to get me to see one of your silly little shows?" Harry rubs at his face.

Bluntly, Louis admits, "I want to see you again. If you come to one of my silly little shows, then I will. I know I will."

"You want to see me again," Harry tries to understand. "Why?"

Louis hesitates. "I - I mean - you're interesting. Fuck, that sounds so stupid - I don't know. I just want to see you again. That is, if you want to see me."

Harry thinks it over for a second. "I don't know if I do."

As Harry answers, Louis pulls in front of his apartment complex. He turns to face him. "How about this? If you want to come to the show, you can shoot me a text and I'll tell security to let you in." Louis opens the center console - withdrawing a pen and a napkin. His car's an absolute mess, littered with food wrappers and articles of clothing. He leans forward, pressing the napkin to the dashboard, and scribbles his phone number down. He hands it to Harry. "When you text me just send me your name so I know it's you, yeah?"

"You mean if I decide to text you," He shoves the napkin down into his pocket. Louis watches him and most definitely notices when his attitude shifts and his cheeks flush.

Louis begins to question him. “What’s -”

"I - um, can you get my crutches?"

He's embarrassed.

"Oh yeah, of course, just give me a second, okay?" Louis gets out of the car and walks around to the trunk. He withdraws the two crutches and takes them up front to Harry.

Harry has the car door open, both legs outside of the car, and his feet flat on the pavement.

"Do you need help?"

"No, but you can hand me one of my crutches." There's something in his tone that tells Louis he should refrain from asking if he needs help in the future.

Louis hands one over and Harry slips his arm through the cuff. He presses the tip to the cement and he's able to push himself up until he's standing - hunched over, but standing nevertheless. Harry reaches out for his other crutch and Louis quickly hands it to him.

He nearly trips as he struggles to gain his full balance. "Shit! Are you okay?" Louis goes to steady him with hands on his shoulders, but he only jerks away.

"I’m fine! Fucking hell. Don't touch me. I don't need your help."

Louis has his hands raised in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Hopefully I'll see you around."

"If I were you I definitely wouldn't keep my hopes up.”

Louis watches Harry leave. There's both a ramp and stairs leading to the entrance of the lobby - he uses the stairs, taking one step at a time. It takes him ages, but after a few grueling moments he’s inside.

Once he's gone and out of Louis' sight, Louis decides then that he can leave.

Turns out, he wasn't willing to do anything for that burger. Instead, he has himself a new found admiration for a certain bright-eyed boy and despite knowing the terrible ending it’s bound to have, he’s willing to take chances.

**  
**

 

It’s the next day at the studio when his phone vibrates.

He glances down at his phone. Even though he doesn’t recognize the number, he goes to his messaging app and reads over the text.

_It’s Harry. You told me to text you about tickets._

Straight to the point. Louis admires that. He must type out and delete at least four versions of virtually the same text before deciding on one to actually send.

_hi harry ! glad to hear from you ! how are ya ??_

After it's sent, he saves Harry's number to his phone. His reply comes back seconds later.

_I’m fine...anyways about the tickets._

“Someone looks flustered.” Louis jumps at the voice.

He glances up at the person casting a shadow over him and sighs. “What do you want Liam?”

Liam smiles. “Ah, come on mate, I’m only teasing.” He sits down on the couch, beside Louis, and tries to look over his shoulder. Louis turns his back to him. “Oh, I see. Who are you texting?”

“It’s nobody.”

“Certainly doesn’t look that way. Is it a boy? Did you meet someone? Huh?" Liam prods him with a sharp jab to the side. He winces and curls in on himself.

In the meantime, his phone dings with another message. _Hello? Louis are you still there?_

“You did, didn’t you? What’s he like? Is he nice? He’s fit, isn’t he? Jesus, this is great!” With each question, there's another stab to his side.

Louis swats his hands away. “If you could go find someone else to annoy for like two minutes, that would be fantastic. I'm busy.”

Liam sloppily kisses Louis’ cheek, leaving saliva residue all over his face, but he pulls away before Louis can smack him.  “You know you’re my favorite.”

“Fuck! That’s disgusting!” Louis groans. He uses his sleeve to wipe away Liam’s mess. “Get away from me, fucking tit.”

He types a quick message. _sorry..annoying bandmates hahaha...yeah can you make it to our show tomorrow night maybe ??_

There's a short pause before the reply comes in. _I think so. What do I need to do?_

Louis’ in the middle of typing his response when Liam snatches his phone away.

“What the fuck? Give it back.”

“Do you have a picture of him? Oh, he sounds so proper over text. What a darling. Wait, you’re giving him tickets for the show tomorrow? Fuck! I can’t wait to meet him.”

Louis groans. “So help me god. Give me my phone.”

Liam laughs as he rapidly types out a message. “One second, one second. I’m sending a text to loverboy.”

“For fuck's sake, leave him alone!”

Louis manages to finally steal his phone back, but once he looks at the conversation, he realizes the damage has already been done

He sent. _ok first u have to suck my dick..u swallow right??_

He’s going to kill Liam.

Harry’s reply comes quicker than any of them before.

_If that’s what I have to do then I’ll pass..._

Louis tries to make it right. _i am so sorry that was my friend liam . im so so sorry fuck . tomorrow just come through the vip area tell security your name .. whats your last name ? your sister’s name ?_

Louis glares at Liam. “You’re an asshole.”

“But you love me. Did loverboy agree?”

“His name is Harry and no, he didn’t.”

Liam draws in a sharp breath. “That’s rough. For you, I mean." Louis cuts him a dirty look and he stands up, excusing himself before the severity of the situation intensifies.  “I think I’ll be on my way then.”

He disappears out the door. Louis rolls his eyes and stares down at his phone until another text bubble pops up.

_Styles and her name is Gemma. Thank you for doing this. She’s going to be so happy. I'll see you tomorrow. I' ve got to go._

_no problem . see you and your sister tomorrow ._

“Harry Styles.” Louis says to himself. A beautiful name for a beautiful person. “See you tomorrow Harry Styles.”

**  
**

 

Louis is far beyond the feeling of irritation.

They have less than an hour until the show begins and Niall still hasn't bothered to make an appearance. He doesn't understand how irresponsible and reckless one person can be, especially someone as famous as Niall.

The three of them, with the blatant exclusion of Niall, are sat in Zayn’s dressing room, exchanging angry words about their band mate. They have to go on, with or without him, and they all know he's with some girl, probably having sex with her right as they speak.

There's a knock at the door, Louis doesn't look up, not even when the voice introduces himself as Paul, their head of security. He can't focus on anything other than his resentment towards Niall, at least half the crowd out there tonight is here for him. They always are.

"Louis, there's a kid here to see you." Paul says, steps into the room, not even showing a glimpse of a smile.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. "What kid?"

"Says his name is Harry. There’s a girl with him too. I'm only telling you because I thought I remembered you talking about him."

Zayn grins, taking a long drag from his cigarette, even though he knows they're not supposed to smoke backstage. "We finally get to meet the mysterious Harry. How exciting. Just think this entire time I thought Liam was making him up."

"Oi, shut up." Louis chastises. He looks back towards Paul. "Tell them to come on in."

"Will do." With that, Paul leaves and shuts the door behind him.

"Aw, you're blushing. Sweet." Liam coos and pinches Louis' cheek in between his fingers.

Louis elbows him in the stomach. He doubles over, holding his gut, and gags. "Easy. I was only kidding."

“Whatever. Before you meet Harry and his sister you should know that - “

He’s interrupted by the door opening, but instead of Paul entering with Harry and Gemma, Niall steps inside. “Lads! I've got a great one to tell you about!"

Zayn glares at him. “Bro, where the fuck have you been? The show starts in less than an hour.”

“What can I say? I got caught up.” He notices the three of them staring at the door and he too turns to face it. “What are we waiting for?”

“Harry.” Liam smirks.

“The same Harry I heard about all day yesterday?”

"You know it.”

He sits beside Louis and stretches his legs out. “It’s about damn time. I can’t deal with hearing about him for another day.”

It wasn’t even Louis who was going around speaking about him every ten minutes. Liam was the one who told Zayn and Niall all about his alleged crush.

Louis isn’t sure what he possibly could have told them, considering Liam knows even less than he did about Harry, which is somehow possible.

"I bet he's fit. I can hardly wait."

Louis doesn't know whether to tell them that Harry's disabled or not. He tried to moments earlier, but he was interrupted. Maybe it's not important. After all, it doesn't matter to him that Harry isn't fully capable of everyday actions because it doesn't make him any less of a person and it's not like he's romantically involved with him anyway. The boys shouldn't be too concerned with his well being.

Louis keeps his eyes set on the door. His nerves are tangled right in the pit of his stomach. He wants today to go as smoothly as he's imagined it.

The door creaks open once again and in comes Paul, followed by Harry and a girl who resembles Harry, but with more delicate features and dyed hair. She must be Gemma.

Louis stares at Harry for a moment, not quite understanding where his crutches went. He's sat in a wheelchair, though he doesn't seem bothered by it. What gives Louis a right to be?

He isn't. He's trying to tell himself that he isn't, but he is. He definitely is bothered and it isn't as though he finds it unattractive or disgusting, it's just that Harry has more physical barriers than Louis thought originally and it bothers him to see someone as gorgeous as Harry struggle.

Paul exits the room and shuts the door behind him, thus leaving the six of them to fend for themselves, and it's quite awkward at first. No one says anything for the longest time, instead bewildered stares and whispers are exchanged.

Louis stands up to greet Harry and Gemma after having enough of the silence. He still isn't sure what to say, but he knows that the lads feel even more uncomfortable than he does. He should have told them.

Harry shyly looks up at Louis. "Hi Louis."

Huh. He's in a better mood than he was two days ago.

"Hi. How are you?" Louis leans down and opens his arms, preparing to engulf Harry in a hug, but the younger lad slumps down to show that he doesn't want to be touched. Louis makes a quick save, clearing his throat, and standing up straight as if nothing happened.

Harry focuses his eyes on his lap. "I'm well. Uh - so, this is my sister, Gemma." He's trying his hardest to get all of the attention off of himself, but it isn't working.

Gemma stands behind Harry with her hands resting on his shoulders. She eyes Louis before finally stepping around Harry to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm a huge fan."

He declines her handshake. "Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Give me a cuddle, love." Instead, he wraps his arms around her thin waist in a tight hug. She smells of a flowery fragrance. He briefly wonders if Harry smells the same. Last time he saw him he smelled liked grease, which he's almost positive isn't a normal scent for the younger lad.

His hug takes Gemma by surprise, but she's grateful to have received it, and she holds him closely. "Thank you." She whispers.

His head tilts slightly, but he chooses not to question it, assuming she means thank you for the tickets. Little does he know that it's much more than that. "Of course." He releases her. "Go on now babes. The other three are waiting for you."

Before she he walks over to Niall, Zayn, and Liam and leaves Harry with Louis, she turns to ask her brother, "All right, H?"

He nods at her, but only appears uncomfortable after she leaves as he picks at the bottom hem of his shirt. He's dressed simple, wearing all black, a t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. He has a cross pendant that lays right in the center of his chest.

Louis sits on the arm of the couch. "No crutches today?"

Harry glances towards Louis. "I wasn't feeling well enough for them and I wanted to be able to move around more. It's hard for me to walk long distances with crutches."

"Can you walk on your own? Without crutches or your wheelchair, I mean." He slips his hands into his front pockets as he waits for a proper, honest answer.

"I can."

"Then why don't you?"

"It's hard. It's not like I can walk all day without them, and I have to be assisted anyways. Someone has to hold me up, or my legs will give out."

Louis nods at him. "I see."

Not another word is spoken until Harry clears his throat moments later.

"Why haven't you asked me yet?"

"Asked you yet?" Louis raises an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to ask you?"

Harry meets his eyes. Louis doesn't have a clue what Harry is alluding to and it's evident across his eyes.

"Nothing, nevermind." He looks off to the side.

Louis sighs. "Alright. Come on. What am I supposed to ask you?"

"It's just - by now, people usually ask what's wrong with me and you haven't yet. It's odd. Your band mates are obviously biting their tongues. They want to know. Why don't you?"

"I've only known you for two days. I don't know enough about you to intrude like that."

Harry shakes his head, glancing down, and laughs. "You thought you knew enough about me in those four minutes the other day to intrude and have me fired."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"Because - well, I don't know, but it is."

Harry argues. "It's the same thing, only on a smaller scale."

"So, what? You want me to ask you then? Fine Harry. What's wrong with you? Why can't you walk like a normal person? Why do you talk like that?"

Harry stares at Louis in disbelief. "That wasn't my intention."

"Wasn't your intention? Then what was?"

Harry shakes his head, glancing down at his lap, and wrings his hands together.

"You're the one who pulled attention to it. I wasn't about to say anything else. Maybe you shouldn't fucking bring it up if you don't want to hear about it." Louis points out and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Fuck. You're such a dick."

"I'm a dick? Because I asked you what you wanted me to ask?"

"I didn't want you to ask me." Harry groans. He runs his hands through his hair and tugs at the roots in frustration. "That's not what I meant."

Louis swallows. This was supposed to be a good experience and here he is, ruining it already. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. Harry," He steps closer to him. Gently, he plucks Harry's hands away from his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frustrate you." He takes his hand and flattens down the part of Harry's hair that's disheveled from him pulling on it.

"Cerebral palsy." Harry whispers.

"Pardon?"

"I have cerebral palsy."

Louis stares at him without speaking a single word. "Okay." He whispers in attempt to find his voice. "It's okay. You didn't have to tell me." He cups Harry's chin in his hand.

Harry shifts away from Louis' touch. "But I did."

"I shouldn't have insisted. You didn't need to."

"I did."

Louis softly laughs and peers in a different direction, shaking his head. "Harry."

"No. I want you to look at me." He demands and he won't speak until Louis gives him the proper attention he deserves, which he does. "I didn't tell you because you wanted me to. I don't want you thinking that I do whatever I'm told or asked. I'm one hundred percent independent. I make all my own decisions. I told you because I wanted to."

"Okay, sure, but why did you want to?"

"How do you expect for me to trust you when you don't know the basics?"

"You want to trust me?" Louis presses.

"Yes."

"But we've only just met."

"I know, but I like you."

"Good because I like you too."

Gemma walks back over to them. She places a gentle hand on Louis' back, like she's known him all of her life. "You boys are so lovely. Aren't they lovely, Harry?"

Harry meets Louis' eyes and smiles sheepishly. "Yeah. Just lovely."

Louis steps away from him, takes a look over his shoulder at the boys, and smiles despite the confused stares they're giving him. "Uh -" He looks back to Harry and Gemma. "Our security is right outside. They'll take you to a room where you can watch the concert. See you after the show?"

Harry looks to Gemma for an answer. "Of course. Thank you so much."

Louis watches the two of them leave and as soon as the door shuts, all the questions the boys kept contained are spewed at him.

"Why the fuck didn't you say he was in a wheelchair?"

"Christ. You're seeing a guy in a wheelchair? What's wrong with him?"

"He didn't even say hi to us. Does he always talk like that?"

Louis gawks at them, eyes wide, and a scoff falls from his mouth. "Are you done?"

"You should have told us mate." Niall shakes his head in dismay.

"Told you what? That he's a little different? Would we still be having this conversation had I told you beforehand?"

Liam's in the midst of pacing. He comes to a halt as soon as Louis utters those words and shouts. "A little? Fuck! He's more than a little different. For god's sake Louis, he's in a wheelchair."

"Really? I had no idea." Louis sounds surprised. "When I met him he was using crutches. I didn't know he was going to turn up in a wheelchair. If I'd known I would have reminded you of your manners."

Zayn scoffs and takes a drag from the second cigarette Louis' seen him with tonight. "So what then? What's wrong with him?"

"Does it matter? He's still a person even if he's in a wheelchair and even if he sounds a bit different. None of that gives the lot of you the right to belittle him."

"Fuck. Louis. Seriously, what's wrong with him? Is he retarded? He doesn't have the best fucking social skills, didn't even acknowledge any of us."

"You didn't approach him either!" Louis swears he's seeing red. How do the boys have the audacity to ask such questions? It makes him wonder if he's made snide comments like that without realizing it. No, it doesn't matter. This isn't about him right now. "The fuck is wrong with you? Retarded? No, he isn't retarded. He has cerebral palsy."

Liam shakes his head. "Cerebral palsy? What the hell is that?"

"I don't know. I've yet to ask him. But he isn't fucking retarded." He points an accusing finger towards Zayn. "Don't talk about him like that."

"I didn't mean to offend you bro. I'm only being honest based off what I saw." Zayn pauses. "You know you can't see him, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Harry. You can't date him."

"And just why not?"

"You'll hurt him."

"When did I mention anything about dating him?" He bellows a laugh. "We only met a few days ago. I’m not even sure that we’re friends."

"Louis," Niall squeezes his shoulder, "I see how you're looking at him. It's okay that you like him, but you're going to hurt him. He's not what you're usually into. He isn't high-profile. He isn't athletic. He isn't rich. He isn't dominate. Mate, you should leave him alone before you crush his feelings."

Louis moves away from Niall. "We have a show to prepare for. I'm going to get changed."

With that, he slips out of the room before he loses his temper.

**  
**

 

The show ends and Louis waits backstage for Harry. He doesn’t try denying it to anyone who questions him.

He does a quick pit check, thankfully he smells decent, not exactly as refreshing as a dryer sheet, but it’ll do. Sometimes the quick showers he takes after gigs don’t work as well as he would like them to.

For nearly ten minutes he stands by himself. Then, he sees Harry roll himself into the room and tries not to focus on Harry’s toned arms.

He’s unsuccessful.

Harry's biceps bulge every time he pushes his wheels forward. Louis hasn’t noticed the scattering of tattoos on his left arm before, yet he likes them. They’re quite intricate, but they don’t match. He isn’t going for a sleeve, they’re tattoos that look good by themselves, like little masterpieces that all have personal reasons.

Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry.

"What?" Harry asks.

“A naked mermaid? Seriously?”

Harry’s fingertips brush over where his mermaid is inked into his skin. His chin presses to his chest as he examines his tattoo. “She’s a beaut, isn’t she?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess - but why are her boobs saggy?”

“We all have our imperfections Louis.” He sounds offended.

“Alright, alright, sorry I asked,”  Louis raises his hands in quick surrender and changes the subject. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I thought it was...interesting. I can’t believe people spend thousands to see the four of you fuck around on stage. Must be an incredible job.”

Louis confirms. “It is.”

“And you have a lovely voice.”

“Sorry?”

“I said you have a lovely voice. I could listen to you sing for hours on end.”

Louis stares at him in confusion. That’s one of the first times he’s ever heard such a warming compliment - coming from someone other than his mum and the fans. He’s always been referred to as the weak link of One Direction. His vocals aren’t as strong or amazing as Liam’s falsetto or Zayn’s riffs. He knows that.

“Don't be silly. You’re just saying that.”

Harry smiles. “I’m not. Honestly, I think you’re the strongest vocalist. None of the other lads sound like you,” Silently, Louis rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes and for the first time Harry engages in the physical contact. He lays his hand on top of Louis’. “I take it you don’t get compliments like that often?”

“Not really, no.”

“Shame. You’re quite talented. I thought your work with the piano was good as well.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.” There’s a moment of silence. “Do you want to maybe - I don’t know, grab a bite to eat? I know a Mexican place downtown that has great quesadillas.”

“You’re seriously asking me out?” Harry smiles.

Louis is quick to deny that in fear of appearing desperate. “I wouldn’t say I’m asking you out...I’m just asking you to dinner.”

Harry smirks. “You’re definitely asking me out. One second,” he lifts his bum out of the chair and reaches into his back pocket for his cell phone. “I have to ring my sister - you can drive me home, yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Brilliant. Just a moment.” Harry calls Gemma, explains what’s going on to her, and hangs up after a few agitating minutes. "Sorry. She's a worrier. I promise it's not always like that. It's just because she drove me here and we're kind of far from my flat and she - "

Louis cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “No worries. It's all good. You're set then?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Louis motions for Harry to follow him and they head out through the back where a car is waiting for them. “Can you get in the car by yourself?”

“I should be fine.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. Instead of rushing forward to help him, he allows Harry to get as close to the car as he can, but he does stand nearby with hesitating hands. He holds onto the car door and stands. Slowly, he steps into the car and sits down in the backseat.

"How do I fold your chair up?"

"Oh - um - there's a button in the back. Push it down and you should be able to snap the wheels together. Thank you."

Louis does as Harry instructs. He's surprised to find that the wheelchair is light in weight. He carries it to the back and slides it into the van's trunk.

He walks back around and sits beside Harry. The driver checks with them, asking if they have everything they need, and once they tell him yes, he hits the accelerator and their drive begins.

Louis glances over at Harry. "You know, I don't mean to sound insensitive but - "

"Nonsense. You're one of the most insensitive people I've ever met."

“Oh…” Louis winces at that very blunt confirmation, but swiftly moves on. "How long have you been, you know, like...yeah."

Harry's slightly amused. "For being as famous as you are, you're not very well-spoken."

"I am - it's just...I don't know how to say things without offending you."

"You haven't offended me yet, irritated me and made me angry, sure, but you haven't offended me. You've done well this far."

Louis looks Harry up and down. "Seriously? I've said some pretty stupid things."

"I know, but I've heard a lot worse."

That's unsettling. "Alright. So, uh - I guess, how long have you had cerebral palsy? That’s not a stupid question is it? I don’t know much about it, sorry.”

"It's alright. My case is mild. I wasn't diagnosed until I was three."

Louis leans forward. "Oh. How was that diagnosed then?"

"I don't remember, but my mum always says that I was a late bloomer. She said I never attempted to crawl as a baby and I wasn't walking at 18 months which were the first signs. Then she noticed my speech impediment I guess."

“It's not that noticeable."

Harry smiles. "You don't have to flatter me. I can hear myself and I know I don't sound right. It's called dysarthria. Some of my facial muscles are impaired. I can’t move this side of my mouth."

Louis nods, reaches over, and takes Harry's hand in his. He squeezes. "Why can't you walk by yourself?”

"There's multiple types of cerebral palsy. I have symptoms of multiple, so what I have is called mixed Cerebral Palsy. My muscles are stiff because I have more muscle tone then I should. The faster I try to move, the more my muscles will contract, the harder it is for me to walk. Sometimes I have really bad spasms. It depends on the day for me."

Louis sighs. "Sorry but I don't get it."

"You don't get what?"

"Where did it come from? Like if you weren't diagnosed until you were three then where did it come from.”

"It's a form of brain damage. It just didn't effect me until I started developing. You do know that around three years is when our brains begin to develop the most, right?"

“I didn’t.”

“My therapist says that’s when we learn to become less dependent on our parents. It’s human nature, I suppose.”

“Interesting,” Louis nods. "Your condition...will it get worse?"

"No." Harry answers. "It's non-progressive."

"But what -"

Harry interrupts and squeezes his hand to let him know that he isn't angry, just a bit flustered with all the questions. "Louis, if you don't mind, I wouldn't like to talk about it anymore right now."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You’re curious. I don’t blame you."

Louis' driver pulls in front of El Taco Loco and waits for the two of them to get out of the car before driving off to park.

Louis glances down at Harry and rests his hand on the nape of his neck. Harry shifts his attention to him and stares as though he's puzzled. "Why are -"

"Do you not like being touched there?”

"No I do. I just -"

"Then hush. Leave it be."

Harry huffs, but doesn't say anything. They head inside, though it takes them a moment to find a pace they can both agree on. It's a slower pace since it takes Harry longer to find momentum.

Once inside, they immediately get the attention of the host, despite the others waiting for a seat. It's the wheelchair. Louis knows it's Harry's physical disability that has everyone on their toes and prepared to make any necessary accommodations.

The host asks. "How many? Two?"

"Don't you have other people waiting?" Louis presses the issue further.

"No, it’s fine. I can seat you now."

Harry shakes his head. "That won't be necessary. We can wait like everyone else is."

His request is ignored. The host picks up two menus and gestures for them to follow. "Come along gentlemen, right this way."

Harry mutters a quick apology to all the people waiting, flushing, and takes a quick look at the clustered the tables and booths. He won't be able to maneuver his way through that. There’s no way he can handle those sharp turns. He peers up at Louis. "Will you push me?"

"Push you? Oh, you mean, like..."

“Can you quit babbling for once? Jesus Christ. It was a simple fucking question.” He snaps.

Louis isn't sure what he's done, but he doesn't like the agitation in Harry's tone. "Oh," He mumbles. "Of course." He steps behind Harry and wraps his hands around the handles. He pushes him. Not too far behind the host - so they don’t lose track of him in the busy restaurant, and not too close - so Louis doesn’t run over the man’s heels with Harry’s wheels.

They’re brought to a two person table. The host moves one of the chairs out of the way and Harry slides into the empty spot.

The host sets their menus down, smiling, and he takes a step back. “Your server will be right with you.” He disappears from their view and they're left with awkward silence, though there seems to be a lot of that.

Harry sighs. “Louis.”

Louis watches Harry. His lips are pursed together. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“That’s it? You’re sorry? I don’t even get an explanation?”

“You do." Harry’s voice softens. “This is all just so frustrating for me.”

“What’s frustrating?” He’s not angry. He’s confused - bewildered, if you will.

“You know.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t babe sorry.”

“I’d like to be able to do some things for myself, but I can’t.”

Oh, Louis gets it now. He insists. “I didn’t mind pushing you Harry if that’s what you’re on about.”

“It’s a bit more than that.” He humorlessly laughs. “You’d have to be me to understand.”

Perhaps Louis doesn’t understand as well as he thought he did. “You’re right about something. I don’t understand.” He admits.

“I won’t bother explaining it. I don’t want to change how you feel about me.”

“And just how do I feel about you?”

“You’re trying to care for me, but I don't want your pity. You do want to care for me, but the more I speak the less you care and the more you pity me.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “You’ve got me be kidding. We both know that isn’t true."

“Do we?”

“Yes. We do.” Louis confirms. “If I didn’t like you, much less didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be sitting here and treating you to dinner.”

Harry holds out one hand. Louis isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do, but he takes his hand and constricts anyway. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“I don’t blame you. It must be hard for you to maintain relationships and friendships. I couldn’t imagine.”

He’s always been the life of the party. He’s never had trouble not fitting in or not being liked, which are ideas completely foreign to Harry.

Harry laughs.

“What’s funny about that?”

“You’re going to make fun of me.”

Louis shakes his head. “I won’t. I swear on my nan’s grave. I will not make fun of you.”

Harry sighs. “Okay, well, I’ve never been in a relationship.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“I’ve never had a _boyfriend_ , no.” Harry lowers his eyes. He tries to release Louis’ hand, but Louis doesn’t allow him to.

Those words shouldn’t make Louis feel the way they do. Harry’s gay, which isn’t the world’s best kept secret, but it does make him feel a better, knowing it’s out in the open.

“You’re kidding. This isn’t your first date, is it?”

“God, no. I’ve been on plenty of dates. Terrible dates. It’s just - I haven’t ever had a guy stick around long enough to get serious, y’know?”

Louis can’t say he knows how it feels. He doesn't say anything at all.

“Of course you don’t. I’ve seen the tabloids.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve had your fair share of boyfriends, yeah? Tom Daley, Nick Grimshaw…I’ve been trying to figure out where I fit in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Louis.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not famous. You’re not going to get good publicity from being seen with me. So, I guess I'm asking, why you're doing this?”

Louis sighs. “Publicity has never mattered to me. It’s something that comes with fame love. I’ve taken a liking to you because you’re charming and humble. And you’re quite a looker as well.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re gorgeous.” Louis corrects. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

Harry blushes and rubs at his face with his hand. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “Tell me what it’s like to be in the world’s biggest band.”

“You’re actually interested?”

“Is that a bad thing?” He sounds nervous.

Louis shakes his head, reassuringly telling him, “Not at all. What do you want to know?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “I guess, how did you guys get together?”

“I’ve known the lads since I was little and we've all always had an interest in music. It was an idea at first, you know, the four us with cheap instruments in our parent's’ garages, now it's a dream come true. It's unfathomable.”

“It must be incredible to experience everything with your best friends. Where did the name One Direction come from?”

“Our name wasn’t originally One Direction. We were, and you can’t laugh at this, Fire Diamond and -”

“Hold on. Fire Diamond?” Harry smiles, holding back a laugh. “Good thing you changed your name.”

“The label made us change our name and sound. We were strictly indie music, but they said that we needed to sound and appear more marketable. It took us awhile, but we finally decided on One Direction.”

Harry uses his hands to stretch his legs. He pulls them off of the platforms provided from the wheelchair and extends them underneath the table. A small groan leaves his mouth as a result of the aching leaving his cramped limbs.

Louis worries. “Harry? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” He waves him off with a nonchalant hand gesture and continues on with the conversation. “What does One Direction mean?”

Louis hesitates, looking Harry over multiple times before he answers. He cares more about Harry compared to anyone aside from family and the boys and he's just met him. “Niall came up with it since we only want to go in one direction.”

“Which is?”

“Up.”

Harry can’t hold his laugh in anymore and covers his mouth with his palm. “That’s cheesy. I’m sorry.”

“Isn’t it? Personally, I don’t like it, but who am I?”

The chatter and laughter of those surrounding their table fills the void of their lack of conversation. “Does it ever bother you?”

Louis doesn’t understand. “Does what ever bother me?”

Harry rephrases. “You’re not the frontman of One Direction. Niall is. Does that bother you?”

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed, but I can tell you honestly, it doesn’t bother me.”

“But you’re envious.” Harry points out.

Louis is taken back and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say - no, that isn’t true. There’s no jealousy within the band.”

He’s not jealous of Niall. Definitely not. He likes his position in the band. Maybe he does get a bit tired of everything being Niall-centric from time to time, but he isn’t jealous. That’s ridiculous.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have implied that. I’m sorry. It just seems a bit tedious.”

“What does?”

“Well....like Niall is always credited the most and you are too, but never with as much positive intent. You’re talented and a nice person. It’s a real shame that media portrays you with such negative connotations. I thought you were a prick for the longest time.”

“I don’t mind the media.”

“Right, of course.” Harry doesn't sound convinced.

“I don’t. People can think I’m an asshole all they want, but at the end of the day do they matter? No. The only people who matter in my life are my family and the boys. And both would tell me if my ego was any bigger than usual.”

Harry smiles. “And you’re smart too? This is already the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Louis purses his lips together and tries to ignore that very candid statement. It bothers him. Harry is in his twenties and he’s never been treated properly by a man. “I’m glad Harry.”

The next question catches him off guard. “What’s your family like?”

“Good, yeah. I’m the oldest of eight.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Eight? Christ. How did your parents manage?”

“I have no idea, but none of them are full siblings. I haven’t met one of my sisters, but the rest are quite a bunch. I’ve got six sisters and one brother.”

“My sister was more than enough for me. I couldn’t imagine growing up with so many girls.”

“Yeah and there’s quite a gap between us. I’m nearly seven years older than my oldest sister Lottie and then there’s Fizzy, the first set of twins, Phoebe and Daisy, and then the second set of twins, Ernest and Doris.” His tone shifts into one of extreme pride. He loves his family more than anything else - ten times more than his career even.

“Do you all get on?”

“For the most part, yes. More now than when we were younger.”

“You get on with your parents too? It must be hard having a son who’s traveling the world all year long.”

“I will proudly tell you that I’m a mummy’s boy. I love my mum more than anything.” His smiles grows, face flushing, and he glances down at his cloth bracelet. His sisters made it for him, Phoebe and Daisy have matching ones.

“That’s sweet. What about your father?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“Did he pass away?” Harry perks up for a second.

“Walked out on my mum and I more like it.”

Harry winces. “I’m really sorry Louis. He’s a dick. He doesn’t deserve someone like you in his life anyways.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I know. I wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire.” Louis glances away from Harry and swallows.

“I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” Harry apologizes.

“No - it’s fine. You’re fine. Thinking of him makes me angry.” Turning his attention back to Harry, he asks, “It’s normal that I still hold resentment towards him, right?”

“It’s more than normal. Your father wasn’t there for you. You could be angry every day for the rest of your life and that would be okay too.”

“My mum always says that I should learn to forgive, but I can’t find it within myself. How does someone desert their girlfriend and ten day old son? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know Lou. Some people are terrible. There's no reason for them being how they are, they’re just shitty.”

Louis draws in a sharp breath. He should stop complaining. His life could be a whole lot worse. “That’s enough about my disgrace of a father. What’s your family like?”

“Simple. It's just my mum, Gemma, and I.”

“Dad?”

“Died when I was younger.”

Louis’ mouth falls open. “Oh um…”

“It’s okay. I don’t remember him well enough to grieve.” Harry says.

“I know. I just - I feel like I overstepped myself and I didn't mean too.”

“That’s sort of how I feel right now as well.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not angry with you.”

“Me neither and I think honesty is a good thing. Nothing is off limits with me.”

“Same here.” There’s a long pause. “Do you think things like that happen for a reason?”

Harry becomes a philosopher then. Socrates in the flesh. “I think God has a plan for all of us and we shouldn't question the bad things that happen in our lifetime because they're meant to happen. God wants it that way.”

“But why do we suffer?”

“So we have appreciation for the small things I suppose.”

Louis nods, doesn't utter another word, as he thinks over what Harry has told him. His point of view is interesting and Louis briefly wonders if Harry feels the same about his disability.

Their server comes over, smiling, and they order, pretending as though the previous conversation hadn’t happened.

**  
**

It’s a few days after dinner and Louis hasn’t heard from Harry, but he isn't surprised. They both have their own lives to attend to and if they’re meant to be they'll come back together. If not, it was a nice while it lasted and it was nice meeting Harry.

He’ll try not to be heartbroken if they never speak again.

So, when his phone rings in the early hours of the morning - no later than three am - it startles him awake.

He blindly reaches for his phone sat on the table beside him and doesn't bother reading the caller ID before hitting accept and bringing it to his ear, it’s either important or a telemarketer.

His voice is thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Lou?" The voice on the other line is weak, quivering with distress. He recognizes it as Harry's. "Louis. Louis? Fuck. Are you there?" His words are more slurred than usual, but Louis debates whether it's him being tired or upset.

"Yeah Harry I'm - “ As soon as hears a sob on the other line, he’s sitting up and fully attentive. “What's wrong? Are you crying? What’s -"

"I can't - my sister she won't pick up and - and - " Harry's voice breaks into loud sobs and Louis feels his heart clench.

He’s never heard Harry cry and he’s never had anyone calling him in the middle of the night crying either. "It's okay, shh, it’s okay. I think I understand. Gemma isn't answering her phone and you needed someone to call, so you decided to call me right?"

Harry sniffles, sputtering out his next sentence, "Yeah. I can't - my hips Louis. Fuck."

Time freezes then. That really doesn’t sound good and Louis seriously shouldn't fuck around with it. "What about your hips love?" Louis clambers out of bed, yanking the covers off, leaving him in only his boxers. "What happened? Talk to me. Harry. Come on.” He’s worried. His heart thumps against his chest and his ears hear nothing over the negativity of his internal thoughts and Harry’s cries.

"I fell," Harry admits finally. "And I can't - I can't get up."

"You _fell_? Shit. Babe, are you at your flat?" He slips on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He’s hyperventilating. "I don’t know what to do. Shit, I really don't know what to do.”

"Hush Harry. It’s okay. I'm coming over. Are you hurt?” Louis tries his way to calm him down, but without his physical presence it's hard.

“No, I don’t - no, I’m not hurt. I just can’t - oh, shit, I can’t get up.”

“That’s why I’m coming. It’s alright. I’ll be right there. What apartment are you love?”

"26B. Louis you don’t have to -”

Louis grabs his keys off of the side table. "I'll be there in ten minutes, okay? I'm not that far out. Do you want me to stay on the phone?"

"No." It sounds pained. He's mortified, definitely, but there's nothing else he can do.

"Okay. I'm on my way." He hangs up and heads downstairs to the car park.

He must break at least five road regulations. He speeds, runs through multiple red lights and stop signs, and nearly hits a pedestrian who thinks a night walk is a good idea.

He's thankful there isn't traffic or police officers on the road.

Pulling in front of the apartment complex, he hardly allows his car to turn off before he scrambles out and heads inside.

He goes straight to the elevator and clicks the button for the second floor. He must walk past Harry's apartment several times before realizing that the faded number on the plaque is actually a six.

Knocking before entering, he doesn’t receive an answer. He takes it upon himself and steps inside.

Instantly, he's taken back. Harry's apartment is aesthetically pleasing, but Louis tries to draw his attention away, it’s not important right now.

Black curtains hang from the walls and the couches are covered with velvet blankets. There isn't much color, but then again it could be from the lack of light. There's one scented candle burning in the center of the living room.

He calls out to him. "Harry. It's Louis. Where are you?"

There’s a faint response. "Bedroom."

Louis walks down the hall until he comes across a room with an open door. He feels sneaky, tip-toeing through Harry's home, even when Harry gave him permission to come over.

It doesn't feel right, but Harry needs his help.

His heart shatters a soon as he peeks inside, Harry is on the floor, trying to push himself up by using the sideboard of his bed, but his arms keep giving out.

"Harry. Hey." Louis ventures softly, stepping into the room, and quickly maneuvers over to be with him. Harry's crying - loudly, sobbingas he tries to get himself up. If Harry hadn’t completely broken his heart before, he surely has now.  "Shh. I'll help you get up babe. Don’t cry. It's okay. I’m here now.”

He crouches down beside him and rests his hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"

"I just...I tripped," Harry sniffles, "and my - my crutches...I can't get up." He looks away from Louis and swallows.

"Why were you talking about your hips on the phone? Did you hurt them when you fell?"

"No. They just - it hurt really bad. They tightened up, my back too, felt like I couldn’t breathe, it hurt."

"Are you still in pain? Maybe I ought you call an -"

"No!” Harry shouts.

Louis hesitates. "I don't want to hurt you Harry."

"You won't.” Harry breathes, staring at the wall in pure rage, “I swear to god - if you call an ambulance, I will never fucking talk to you again. My pump already gave me medicine and I’m fine.”

"Pump?" Louis presses.

"It's - it's really not important."

"Of course it isn’t.”

"I shouldn't have called you. You can go home." He tries once again to pull himself up to a kneeling position, but fails.

"It's three in the morning, you're crying because you've fallen on the floor and you can't get up. What's your plan now?"

Harry's face flushes. "I - I'll figure it out. I always do."

Louis shakes his head. He stands up and glances around his bedroom.

Harry's eyebrows draw together in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help you get into bed. I haven't figured out how yet," Louis crosses his arms over his chest and taps his fingers against his arm. "Any ideas?"

"I told you not to help me." Harry wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “I’m a piece of shit. This happens all the time and I don't fucking need you here. I made a mistake and panicked. Get the hell out!”

Louis remains calm and collected. "You called me crying in the middle of the night, Harry. It's past not needing help. You’re frustrated, I understand, and if you never want to talk to me again, I understand, but at least let me help you. I can't leave you like this." He gets an idea and bends down. "Here's what we'll do. Wrap your arm around my shoulders and I'll support your waist."

Harry stares at him. "I can't - you'll have to support most of my weight. I can't support myself. I don't have any strength in my legs.”

"I realize. What's your point?”

"It's just...you're quite small, y'know, and I'm quite big."

Louis laughs. "Come on. Wrap your arm around me."

Harry slips his arm around Louis' neck and only tenses a little when he feels Louis grasp his waist

"I'm going to take it nice and slow. If you need to stop, let me know."

Harry hums.

Louis slowly stands the two of them up, but has to stop when Harry's legs buckle underneath him. Louis' the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the floor.

Harry's calm breaths turn into exerted pants. "Louis I can't. Fuck Louis I really can't."

"It's okay. It's okay. Let's stop for a minute. I can hold you up. Try to find your footing love."

And he doesn't know why it happens or what makes him think it's a good idea, but he kisses the top of Harry's head.

"Did you just -"

"Yeah. I did."

Harry doesn't say anything. Not for a few moments. "Okay. I think I have it."

"Come on.” Louis whispers and helps Harry step towards his bed.

He hadn't actually realized just how difficult it is for Harry to walk until now. Harry isn't capable. Stumbling with nearly every step he takes, it's hard for his legs to bend and even harder for him to find balance.

Once he sits him down on the bed, Harry shifts to lay on his back. His eyes shut and he draws in a sharp breath.

"Is there anything else you need babe?”

"Can you bring my crutches closer to bed?"

Louis nods. He walks over to where they're scattered on the floor. They're not placed in a straightened manner, it's obvious Harry lost his handle on them when he tripped. Louis picks them up and leans them against the dresser beside the bed.

Harry’s chest rapidly rises up and down and Louis swears he can hear him whimpering.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

Harry whispers, sounding choked up, but maybe the exhaustion of the situation is finally getting to him. "I'm okay."

Louis doesn't push it any further. "I'm going to head back to my hotel now. I'm glad you're settled." He begins to leave the room.

Harry watches him. "Louis." He calls.

Louis comes to a complete stop and pivots to face Harry. "Yes?"

"Stay with me tonight."

He doesn't argue. Instead, he walks to bed and slips in beside Harry.

"Thank you." Harry shifts closer. His body heat radiates off of him.

Their eyes meet. "Out of anyone, why did you call me? We’re as good as strangers.”

"I knew I could trust you. You've been good to me."

"I've only known you for a week."

Harry smiles and cups Louis' cheek with his fingertips. "I know when I've met someone special. You're one of a kind." Gently, he grazes Louis' cheek before withdrawing his hand and letting it relax against the mattress.  

"You have it all mixed up." He takes Harry’s hand into his, squeezing tightly, and presses his lips to his knuckles. “But I’ll take the compliment. You’re lovely.”

Harry breathes. “Louis.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Louis narrows his eyes. "For what?"

"You make me feel normal and I don't ever feel this way."

“Normal?”

“I’m not normal Louis. You have a way of speaking to me that isn’t condescending and you treat me like an actual person. A lot of people are confused by my condition and I’m sure you are too, but you’re not rude. I hate being different, but somehow you've made me feel better about it tonight. It means a lot to me.”

All Louis feels is more confusion. “What means a lot to you?”

“You’re staying with me tonight.”

“Right…”

“Most people wouldn’t do that. Not after what they just walked in on.”

“For starters, I’m not most people. I’m an independent individual and anyone who wouldn’t stay with you isn’t worth a shit. I understand that your legs don’t work properly Harry and I also understand that what I walked in on most likely isn’t a normal occurrence for you. You live by yourself, yeah?”

“I do.”

“That right there shows me that you want to be dependent on only yourself. Tonight didn’t bother me love.” His thumb glides back and forth over Harry’s knuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here for you.”

With that, Harry smiles and moves closer to Louis. He curls himself against Louis’s chest, burying his face into the material of his t-shirt, and Louis finds it oddly cute. He’s smaller than Harry, but somehow he’s ended up as his protector. One of his hands rests on Harry’s back while the other sprawls across the mattress. He presses his lips to Harry’s hairline. “Sweet dreams love.”

 

 

  
  
The next morning Louis wakes up to an empty bed. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, but with one look around, he remembers that he's in Harry's apartment - more specifically, Harry’s bedroom.

There's light shining through the cracks in the curtains and into the small bedroom. Now, Louis' able to see the paintings that hang from his wall and the fairy lights twisted around his dressers - and the pill bottles that litter the top of his dressers.

Those make him feel unsettled.

The paintings hanging from his walls are unlike anything Louis has ever seen before. At first glance they look like splashes of color, but the closer he looks, the more he can make out the outlines of people. They’re not stick people. They’re portraits, but with certain facial details highlighted. In one, eyes are the main feature. Another, a nose. Another, lips. Each article that isn’t a main feature is colored with pastels. None of the portraits are a typical skin complexion. Complexions are shaded with blues, purples, and greens.

He calls. "Harry?"

There's no reply, but there is a faint scent of tea in the apartment.

Harry must be awake.

He slips out of bed and walks down the hallway. Once he's in the loft, he can see Harry sitting in his wheelchair - Louis knows it means he isn't feeling well enough for his crutches this morning, he’s slowly learning his quirks - near the counter.

The counter is significantly lower than most counters are, considering even though Harry's sat down he's still higher up than the counter top.

He can hear the sound of a kettle whistling. "Harry?"

Harry looks up and a smile pulls at his lips. "Morning Lou. I'm making tea."

"So I see.” Louis walks into the kitchen. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better than last night. I'm a bit sore. Did you sleep alright?"

"Surprisingly well. Your mattress is quite comfortable. It’s a nice change from hotel mattresses."

Harry nods. “I bet. You must be holed up in hotels for hours on end. How long are your tours?”

“Six to eight months. We have about a month left of this one.”

“That’s a long time to be on the road isn’t it? I’m sure your family misses you.”

“They do. I call mum at least once a day, but we’re on our last leg which is throughout the UK. She’ll come to a few of my shows.”

“Humble.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re humble.”

“How do you figure?”

“You call your mum everyday Louis. You’re glued to your roots. I don’t even call my mum everyday. I respect that.”

Louis smiles. “Family is my number one.”

“As it should be.” Harry moves over to the stove and flips the stove top off. Grabbing the handle of the kettle, he carefully steers himself back over to the counter and sets it down. “Do you want a cup? It’s PG Tips.”

“Sure love.” Louis steps around him and takes a seat at the kitchen table. it’s intricate. The way Harry takes his time with every action he does. He always has a set look of concentration on his face.

Louis watches as he pulls two mugs from the bottom cupboard and sets them on the counter. His hands shake as he aims the nozzle of the kettle above the mugs, but successfully he gets all of the steamy liquid into the glasses without dumping it. Louis didn’t think he was going to, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling a sense of pride when he doesn't.

He doesn’t stay sitting for long though. As soon as Harry puts the mugs between his thighs, it’s a no go. He’ll end up spilling and burning his thighs and crotch with the boiling liquid. Once he moves over to be by Harry, he takes the mugs from him, though his hands do graze the inside of his thighs by accident.

Harry shivers, thickly swallowing, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Louis sets the mugs down on the table and waits for Harry before he sits down. “Your apartment is nice. I didn’t know you had such abstract taste.”

“Abstract?”

“I’ve seen some of the paintings in your room. Where did you get them? They're brilliant."

Harry doesn’t say anything at first, sipping his tea, and avoids eye contact with Louis. “You like them?”

“Of course I like them. Where did you get them?”

Confidence is evident in his tone. “I painted them.”

“You painted them? Seriously?”

“Do you think they’re any good?”

“I think they’re incredible. I didn’t know you were an artist. They’re amazing Harry. Shit.”

Harry grins. “Do you want to see my studio?”

“Fuck. Of course.”

Their teas are forgotten as they both depart from the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a painter?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. “It never came into conversation.”

They walk down to the hallway, past Harry’s bedroom, until they reach the end of the hallway. Only one door is there. Harry peeks over his shoulder at Louis as if he’s about to show him something top secret before he pulls the door open.

Slipping inside the room, the entire atmosphere shifts, to one of tranquility, as though there has never been any disruption of peace in this very studio.

A large window, with the curtains drawn back, and a platform with a pillow and blanket lying out is against the back wall. There's a mountain of books and a pair of glasses stacked near the window.

It's completely contrasting the rest of the flat. Bright colors and a littering of paint cans fill the room. It’s messy, but creatively so, as though it’s purpose is to be messy. The mess is art. Every inch of the room is art. There’s a couch - made with patches of patterned fabric - pushed to one side of the room, but there isn’t any other furniture.

An easel sits right in the center of the room, the sun shines on it, and it's surrounded by carpet stained with dark blue and bright yellow and everything in between.

His paintings cover nearly every inch of the walls, only one empty space occupies the four walls. “What are you going to put there?” Louis asks, trying not to sound too involved.

Harry might find his curiosity odd.

“Where?”

Louis points to the empty spot. “There.”

“I haven’t finished a good enough piece to put up there just yet. My favorite painting will go up there once I’ve created it.”

“Why not put your current favorite painting up there?”

Harry is nonchalant. “I don’t have one.”

“You have to have one painting that you like more than the others.”

“I don’t.” Harry repeats, turning to face Louis, “They say that you know when you make the masterpiece of your entire career, but I haven’t reached that point in stature yet.”

“You’re telling me that all of your paintings have the same value?”

“Yes. My very first means the same as my very last which was…” Harry peers around the room until he spots his latest painting. “That one.” He points.

A portrait of a woman. Her skin is a pastel blue, while her lips are bright orange and patterned with small white diamonds. He isn’t sure how or why the contrasting colors appeal to him, but they do. He should find it tacky and uncoordinated, but putting orange and blue sort of makes sense to him.

“Why orange and blue?”

Harry rephrases. “Why not orange and blue? Art is interesting. You can make up your own mind about it.”

“But why do you always use contrasting colors? Orange and blue, red and green, yellow and purple."

“That’s for you to decide. I can’t tell you.”

“What if I’m wrong?”

“There isn’t a wrong answer Louis.” Now, he sounds like some philosophical fortune cookie, but Louis isn’t sure he disagrees. “It’s all up to interpretation.”

"I don't -"

"Have you ever heard the expression, "beauty is in the eye of the beholder"?"

"Of course."

"It's a similar concept." Harry pushes himself past Louis, to the couch, and he transfers himself from the wheelchair to on of the cushions.

Looking at him, without his disability in mind, he appears completely able, but as soon as Louis’ eyes drift to the wheelchair the thought disappears.

He sighs, forgetting the thought he just had, and presses his ideas further. "If I guess correctly, will you tell me?”

“There isn't a right answer.”

“There has to be some reason.” Harry doesn't answer. "Whatever." Louis walks around the room and he examines the piece of work on the easel. It's only in the beginning stages - a sketch made with graphite lines. "Who is this?"

Harry furrows his eyebrows, leaning forward, and he too examines the sketch. "What do you mean?"

"Who are you drawing?"

Harry stares at him in confusion. "I'm not drawing anyone in particular."

"You mean to tell me that you've done this from imagination?"

"Yes. " Harry nods. Louis is taken back. That makes things even more impressive. Harry cuts his thoughts off yet again. "Have you ever thought of modeling?"

Louis glances at Harry as if asking if he’s kidding. “Modeling? Why would I model? I’m already a performer.”

“I know, but plenty of performers model on the side. You should think about it. You have nice features. You’re French, yeah?”

Louis nods. “How did you know?”

“It’s the dainty nose and cheekbones.”

Louis brushes his fingers against his face. He’s never heard the word dainty used to describe him, out of all people, but smiles nevertheless. “Thank you.” He takes one last glance at the sketch on the easel before drawing his attention to jumble of letters on Harry’s wall. The letters spell out possibly the most beautiful anecdote he’s ever read:

_I wish I had the talent to paint the way I feel about you, for my words always feel inadequate. I imagine using red for your passion and pale blue for your kindness; forest green to reflect the depth of your empathy and bright yellow for you unflagging optimism. And still I wonder; can even an artist’s palette capture the full range of what you mean to me?_

“That’s a nice saying, isn’t it?” Harry asks.

“Beautiful. Did you write it?”

“No. I can't write for shit.” He stretches his legs out. “Nicholas Sparks did. I’ve never been in love, but that’s how I imagine it feels.”

He whispers to himself, quiet enough so Harry can’t make out what he’s saying. “I wouldn’t know.” He treads over to sit beside Harry.

Harry stares at his profile for the longest time, not stopping until Louis questions him on it, and even then he still side eyes him. “Why are you looking at me?”

“I want to paint you.” He admits.

Louis scrunches his nose. “You want to paint me?”

“You’re beautiful and I would love to paint you. I don’t know what feature I would focus on, there’s too many to choose from, but I’ll figure it out. Can I paint you? Please?”

“I don't know. I can’t stay for much longer. I have a recording session and then - “

“No, not today.” Harry corrects. “It’s going to take me a long time to draw you perfectly. Will you come back this weekend? I promise I’ll paint you as beautiful as you are in person.”

Louis can’t argue with something as sweet as that. He gives in with a sigh. “Fine. You can paint me, but only if you come to another one of my shows.”

“Are you serious? You’ll do it?”

"I’ll text you the details.”

And he doesn’t expect a huge reaction out of him, though he’s learning not to expect anything from him, but to his surprise Harry wraps his arms around him and squeezes. “Thank you. I’m so excited.” He whispers.

This feels oddly normal. Louis feels comfortable and welcomed.

Harry buries his face against his neck. Louis rubs his back and the smells of fresh linen engulfs him. He feels safe, too.  “You’re welcome.” They separate and Louis braces himself on Harry’s shoulders. “I have to head out of here. I’ll see you this weekend babe,”  

“Bye.” Harry smiles.

Louis kisses his forehead. “Text me if you need anything, even if you just want someone to say hi to."

"Of course."

"Take care. I'll see you soon."

"Okay sunshine, you too."

With those words he slips out of the studio and the house. He can’t stop smiling, not during the invasive questions and interviewers, not while reading rude tweets, not even while being booed by a handful of fans.  

He has only one thought. _Harry Styles_. He's enough to make him smile for days.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis’ been debating this painting session all week. He stands at Harry’s front door and hesitantly knocks against the wooden surface.

It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be painted, no, that's not it at all. Harry makes him feel anxious in general, whenever he sees him breath catches in his throat, his stomach tingles whenever he even thinks of him, and sitting with him in a room for a few hours is either going to make or break their relationships, or their lack of.

Harry’s soothing voice calls out to him. “It’s open!”

Turning the handle, he pushes the door and takes a step inside the compact apartment. This time around he feels welcomed. The curtains are drawn wide open, allowing the light inside, and adding to his feeling of comfort.

His apartment is small, which means it’s cute. Louis likes it more than his own. His is too large and too lavish. The purchases he makes are rubbish and tacky, but only because he has more money than he knows to do with. There isn’t an abundance of furniture or personal touches. It’s bare. He doesn't have the time to make it his own.

Harry’s is opposite. It’s completely his. There isn't a bare wall or corner. His personality shines through.

He glances around, appreciating the view a bit more, compared to the last time he was here and terrified Harry was dying in his bedroom.

There’s a balcony past the glass doors and the view represents everything London is. Architecture, taxis, beeping horns, angry lads screaming curses at one another. It’s London at it’s finest.

Harry has a table for two set up on his patio and Louis briefly wonders if he’s ever used it. There’s a thick layer of frost slicked across the top and Harry isn’t exactly the most social person, and for him it has no purpose.

As soon as the thought passes, Louis regrets thinking it. He doesn’t mean to be stuck in a discriminating frame of mind. Harry is much more than his disabilities. He’s a person, a real life, sensitive person despite his struggles and it’s not fair for Louis to have those thoughts.

Harry is more than bowed legs and a speech impediment, he’s a beautiful masterpiece with the softest and kindest eyes Louis’ ever seen and a smile that etches a sketch in everyone's mind. Truly one of a kind.

With another glance around the lounge, Louis notices the art magazines scattered across the coffee table and a backpack recklessly drawn open and thrown to the side. There’s pencils and markers littering the floor and bundles of blankets draping over the back of both couches.

Harry’s disorganized but there's something about the mess that makes it oddly refreshing. Maybe it's because it's Harry. This is the epitome of him. Every misplaced magazine and marker is a part of him in the smallest way. He likes his home to look this way and that’s the biggest key to his personality.

He’s independent and craves for everyone to know.

His voice breaks Louis from his thoughts. “Hi Lou.”

He turns his head and watches as Harry steps out of the kitchen, down the few steps that drop down into the loft, and over to stand in front of him. He gives him a once over, checking for any injuries or changes in appearance. He worries about him, more so now that he understands how clumsy of a person he is.

Despite his worries, he doesn't find any changes, aside from his hair having a tad too much personality this morning, and his cross recklessly crooked on his bare chest.

Louis leans forward and adjusts the cross, setting it straight.

Harry shivers at the contact.

“You should really be more careful with letting people inside your flat.” Louis whispers, staring up at Harry with a thoughtful glance, and pushes a misplaced ringlet behind his ear.

Harry flinches at the contact. “Why?”

“You didn't ask for my name or anything. I could have been a crazed axe murderer and now I’m in your apartment.”

Harry’s mouth drops open in exaggerated shock. “You mean to tell me you're not an axe murderer? Fuck. I've been wrong this entire time.” Louis slaps his chest. “Hey! Easy on the merchandise sunshine. I knew you were coming over this morning. Call me crazy, but I just figured it was you at the door.”

His use of his crutches tell Louis he’s feeling well and stable this morning, which is lovely in itself, but his lack of clothing is even lovelier.

Aside from a pair of boxers, he doesn’t have any clothes on, and fuck, his bulge is huge. Louis would have never assumed Harry had a big package and again, he finds his mind wandering and wondering if Harry is completely able in that area of his body, not that it matters right now, but he craves to know what Harry is capable of with his monster cock.

Harry catches him staring. He doesn't say anything to put a stop to it, instead snickers and shakes his head in an endearing manner, and Louis feels heat rise to his cheeks.

He focuses his attention on Harry’s torso then. Harry has tattoos there too and Louis likes them, a lot. The butterfly that covers his stomach is remarkably well done and laurels are evenly inked on his hips. They suit him.

“I see you really dressed up.” Louis sarcastically points out and stealths closer to him. Dragging his lithe fingers down Harry’s chest, he whispers, “What’s the occasion? Did you dress up for me?”

“God, no.” Harry quirks a smirk, eyeing Louis’ hand with creased eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

Louis withdraws. “I wouldn’t be a very successful prostitute. I'm not good at being seductive, I guess.”

“That...” There’s a pause and Louis feels like Harry's going to say there's no attraction between them, but he doesn’t. “Or maybe because it’s eight in the bloody morning and I’m still half-asleep. Try again later.” he suggests, wryly. “Anyway. I woke up to make breakfast for you. I lost track of time.”

“You made me breakfast?” Louis asks in awe, but doesn't allow himself to get too sappy. Harry would give him shit for it. “How romantic. A man after my heart.”

“Yeah, about that…” Harry rubs his thigh and glances over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. Louis looks in that direction. There’s a smokey haze lurking in the air and he inhales a scent of something burning. Harry quickly confirms. “I burnt the shit out of the eggs and added too much water to the pancake mix.”

Louis smiles at him. “No breakfast then?”

“No, but I’m not surprised.” Harry laughs. “I’m not the best cook. I’m too forgetful.”

“No worries.” Louis pushes the situation behind them with a wave of his hand. He isn’t upset about it. He’s still full from dinner with the lads. “Are we starting right away?”

“Do you want to?”

Louis shrugs. “It’s whatever you want babe. If you want to take a shower and put some clothes on first, that’s fine too.”

He doesn’t understand why the atmosphere shifts after that, but it definitely does. Harry’s posture changes. His body hunches over, as if trying to make himself appear smaller - which isn’t possible, and he turns his focus to the floor. It's another one of his quirks, it happens when he doesn't feel comfortable, Louis’ come to realize.

“Harry?” Louis presses, goes to touch him, but he draws back. “What the - hey, what’s wrong?”

Harry shakes his head. “I just...you don’t have to be indirect with me, y’know, I’d rather you be blunt and tell me.”

Louis’ dumfounded. His eyes narrow as he watches Harry. He’s near tears. His body trembles with each inhale. “I don’t understand. What did I say? What’s wrong?”

“Louis, it’s fine, I just - “ Harry begins to say. His voice isn’t shaking like his breath is, which means he’s collecting his emotions.

But Louis doesn't allow for him to finish, insistent on knowing what he’s done or said wrong. His own posture changes, evolving into a defensive stature, crossing his arms over his chest and consolidating himself.  “No. Tell me what I said to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s just - “ Harry cuts himself off with a sigh. “If you don’t want to look at my legs, I understand, but - “

Louis draws his attention to Harry’s legs, for the first time, and he notices the fragility of them, again for the first time. Obviously, he knows that Harry’s legs don’t work properly, but they have an odd appearance to them as well. It’s no wonder he can’t walk without some sort of assistance. They’re thinner than the rest of his body and Harry’s a rather lean guy.

Louis doubts they could even hold a toddler up right, because of how tenuous they appear to be and to make manners a bit more severe, they don’t extend correctly.

His left leg holds a bit more normalcy as he stands, only curving unnaturally at the ankle, his foot lays partially on it’s side, but his right leg is a whole other story, unusually bending at both his knee and ankle.

He should’ve known they weren’t going to look similar to his own, but the few times he’s seen Harry he’s worn jeans or sweats and he never had indication to give it thought.

“I wasn’t talking about your legs.” Louis says, instantly trying to forget the previous revelation. It doesn’t matter to him. Harry’s legs and their appearance doesn't matter to him. He shifts the conversation. “It’s November for fuck’s sake and you’re in your pants.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “I...you’re not disgusted?”

“By what?” Louis asks. “I don't understand.”

“My legs. Most people - “

“Ah, there’s where our misunderstanding is.”

“What?” Harry asks.

“I’m not most people. You shouldn’t make assumptions before you know for fact. It’s ignorant.”

Harry flushes and peers down at the floor, again. His hands tighten around the hand grips. “I -”

“Why don’t you go have a warm bath? Put on a pair of joggers or pajamas, take your time, I’ll be here.”

Harry nods. “Thank you.” He whispers, thankful, and disappears from Louis’ sight. His exerted breaths and the descending sound of crutches tapping on wooden floor are the only noise Louis’ left with.

He takes the alone time he’s been allotted to get a better understanding of Harry’s taste and personal life, but there isn’t anything too revealing in his loft.

Everything aside from the mess is monotonously colored. Though, the flowers and plants he has scattered around are quite telling of how delicate and tender Harry is, which he already knows, of course.

He comes across a picture table sitting at the far end of the room. There’s only a handful of frames, four, but each is carefully placed.

Louis picks up the first one. The words strength, ambition, faith, and hope are all painted onto the white frame. It’s definitely homemade.

The picture is one of younger Harry and, Louis assumes, Harry’s mother. She resembles Harry, except darker complected and more delicately featured. Easily said, just like Harry, she’s beautiful.

Harry is dressed in a black cap and gown, sat in a chair, and his mother wears a floral dress, embracing him tightly from behind. It must be a picture from his graduation, but from secondary school or university Louis doesn’t know.

He doesn’t even know whether Harry went to Uni. There's still a lot of missing pieces in Harry’s puzzle.

Louis sets it down and holds the one beside it. A recent picture of Harry and Gemma. He’s sat on Gemma’s lap, hands forming peace signs, and his tongue sticking out. Gemma laughs and holds a shot in the air.

A laugh falls from between his lips and he glances over at the two other photos.

One is a picture of him, some friends or cousins, maybe, and Gemma at a beach. He’s on the back of one of the guy’s in the group, sporting a bun and a grin.

In the background there’s a mix of blankets and beach towels laying beside each other on the sandy shore. It looks like it was a beautiful day. The sun shines brightly and the water sparkles.

There isn’t many people in the background, but Louis recognizes one of the ladies in the water as Harry’s mum. Then, he concludes the photo comes from  a family reunion.

The last image is of Harry as a little boy. He looks the same, big green eyes and dimples on both cheeks. The only difference being his hair isn’t straight and blonde anymore. A middle-aged man is pictured with him. He must be his late father.

Harry has braces on his legs and he stands on a boat with his dad, proudly holding up a fish. His dad has a hand on his back, keeping him steady and upright.

Louis softly smiles at the picture. Whoever the man is, whether it is his dad or not, definitely cared about Harry, telling by how he holds him and supports his weight. It’s sad, though, knowing that the man Harry called his dad isn’t alive any longer.

Louis can relate. He understands how he feels about its.

“Louis?”

As soon as he hears his name, he quickly places the frame back down on the table and turns to face Harry to appear innocent, but it’s too late, he’s already seen him.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, treading closer to Louis. He wears a fitted black t-shirt and a pair of grey joggers. His hair is much longer when it’s wet and stringy.

“I was just…” Louis sighs. He’s been caught. There’s no point in making up an excuse. “I was curious. Your pictures are very nice.” His eyes follow Harry until he's stood right beside him.

Harry’s expression is hard, but once he glances over at the picture table, a smile pulls at his lips, but he doesn't say a word.

Louis picks up the picture he held previously and he flashes it to Harry. “Who is this?”

“My dad.” Harry says, though his voice lacks confidence.

Louis’ glad his assumption was right, but now he’s second guessing bringing it up to Harry. Harry became bothered instantly with the subject.

He manages to say. “It looks like he loved you.”

“I love what I remember of him.” Harry says and plucks the picture from Louis’ hands. He stares at the picture for only a few seconds before setting it down.

It's blatantly a sensitive topic. Louis won't push him to explain any further.

“Is this your mum?” Louis asks, pointing to the picture on the far right, the first one he looked at.

“Yeah,” Harry nods. “That’s from my graduation dinner. She wouldn't let me take the damn cap and gown off. Said I looked unbelievably handsome.”

Louis smiles. “You do.”

Harry doesn't take the compliment. “I felt so normal that day. My family is always quick to offer assistance and make comments when I don't need them and at my graduation I think I finally proved myself. I moved into this place soon after.”

“Was that your graduation from university then?”

Harry nods.

“What did you major in?” Louis asks.

“Communications,” Harry sighs, “but I haven't done anything with my degree.”

“You’re young. You have a lot of time left.” He assures him, but when he gazes towards him, he isn’t paying any attention.

He’s clocked out, no longer interested in Louis and what he has to say, instead his eyes are focused on the picture of him and his father.

Louis doesn't say anything about it, he even tries to shift the topic, “Should we head to your studio?”

Harry swallows, pulling his attention away from the photo, “Yeah...” The word drawls out. He isn’t entirely focused on Louis until he forces himself brush the thoughts of his dad away. “Definitely. Come on.” Stepping away from the photo table, he leads Louis down the hall to his studio.

There isn’t a word spoken between the two of them. Louis’ afraid that he’s possibly made things awkward by snooping in Harry’s life, but once they step into the studio and Harry turns to grin at him, he knows he’s mistaken.

Harry’s lips pull into a smile, causing his dimples to pop. Louis swears it’s one of the most endearing expressions he’s ever seen.

“I started a brief sketch.” he explains. “I found a picture of you online and used it as my reference, but I need you directly in front of me to resemble you as best as I can.” He gestures to the easel.

Louis’ impressed with what he sees. It’s not much, a few graphite lines plotting out his facial features, but those graphite lines are better than anything Louis could ever dream of creating.

“Wow.” Louis breathes. “It looks amazing.”

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a sketch.”

“Yeah. A fucking amazing sketch.” Louis presses. He hates when Harry puts himself down, it gets under his skin, and he desperately wants for him to feel different, but it’s going to take coaxing and encouragement to get there.  “Where do you need me?”

“How about - “ Harry pauses as he glances around the room. He’s never painted a real person in the flesh, aside from his sister, which most definitely doesn’t count. “Just pull a chair up, I guess...yeah, I reckon that would be good.”

Louis obliges, walks to the other end of the room where there’s a few metal chairs pushed against the wall, and drags one beside the easel. He sits down and looks at Harry. “Oh shit. Do you need a chair too?” he asks and begins to stand up, only after realizing that he’s left Harry standing.

“I work better standing.” Harry says.

Louis doesn’t argue with him. He doesn’t like the tone Harry gets every so often. It’s monotonous, a bit threatening, without directly demanding anything. He knows he isn’t helpless, but he wants him to know that assistance is there whenever he needs it. “Is there a certain pose you need me to do?”

“You do know this isn’t a photoshoot, right? You’re not posing for a bloody camera. I need your dimensions to have a bit more depth.”

Louis isn’t sure what he means about depth or dimension. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know what that mean. You’re speaking a whole other language.”

Harry glances over at him. “Just sit there and look pretty, okay?” He shakes his head and squints his eyes at the easel. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

“Oh, so now I’m pretty? I’m flattered.” Louis smirks, cocking an eyebrow at Harry’s hidden compliment.

Harry flushes. “Shut up.”

It’s surprising to see Harry drop one of his crutches to the floor. As Louis leans forward to pick it up for him, he wards him away with a hand gesture. “I don’t need it. Leave it.”

He leans his weight on his left crutch and with his right hand he picks up a thick pencil. Sneaking a few glances at Louis, face set with concentration, he uses those brief gazes as a guide for the features he sketches.

Watching Harry is making Louis anxious. He’s worried about him balancing all of his weight on one side of his body and crutch. It would be awful for him to lose his stability, which is probable, and Louis doesn’t want to see him embarrass himself.

“Harry, are you sure you don’t want to sit? You can take my chair.”

Harry peers over at him and scoffs, shaking his head,  and glances back towards his portrait without as much as answering the question.

“Harry - “

“Stop. I’m fine.”

“I know you’re fine, but I don’t want you to tumble over. Babe, that crutch isn’t going to hold you up for very long. I can pull up another chair if you need me to.”

Harry sighs, pausing in his actions, and promptly he faces Louis. “I appreciate the concern, I do, but I’ve done this more times than not. I know what I’m doing and I’m fine. Please, stop rambling about it. Thank you.”

Louis backs off then, slumping back against the chair, and watches as Harry’s hand graces over the paper with ease. His hands aren’t affected by his cerebral palsy, at all, not even by tremor.

Louis’ read up on cerebral palsy for a few nights now. He feels a bit more understanding of Harry’s situation, even if he will never experience it on a first level basis. Some of the things Harry’s told him make more sense, though, there’s still question after question circulating around his mind. He wants to ask, but he hasn’t found it to be appropriate timing.

His curiosity helps him ask a more respectful one. “When did you start drawing?”

“I’m not too sure.” Harry answers and hesitates before he continues. “I was always the kid who doodled on their assignments and pissed the teacher right off. My mum thought my doodles weren’t half bad and she forced me into taking a art class in school, but I don’t know when the passion genuinely started. I guess I’ve just always had a knack for it. What about you?”

Louis creases his eyebrows. “What about me?”

“When did you realize that you loved singing?”

“I don’t know.” Louis responds and laughs. He sounds identical to Harry with that response. “I think it’s always been something I enjoyed doing.”

“Yeah, but there had to be something that peaked your interest.” Harry looks over at Louis and their eyes meet. “Come on. There has to be something.”

“I was in my church choir, not by choice, but I suppose that’s where the passion came from.” Louis explains. His mum had forced him into the choir. He was young, but a troublemaker, and she thought that a proper journey with God would make him less reckless and more conscientious. She was wrong, of course, but his experience with the choir was good. That’s where he met Niall, who would later introduce him to Liam and Zayn, and he’s grateful for meeting the three of them.

“You were a churchboy? I find that hard to believe.”

“Not by choice. Mum is extremely religious and so all of us kids went to church every Sunday.”

“Every Sunday? Impressive.”

Louis nods. “You better believe that mum forced us to go even if we were poorly and puking our guts out.”

“There’s an image I didn’t need.” Harry laughs. “She sounds like a good mum. How accepting was she of you coming out?”

“Obviously, she was taken back, but she’s made an effort to be supportive which is more than I could’ve ever asked for. I’ve been bringing my boyfriends home since I was fourteen.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah. Mum has always been involved with that aspect of my life. What about your mum?”

Harry’s lips tug into a soft smile. “I never came out to her.”

“She doesn’t know? Harry you have to - “

“Easy. I never came out to her because she already knew. She always says I’ve been more keen on boys. When I went on my first date, I introduced Will to my mum, and she didn’t say anything about my sexuality. She’s never said anything about it. I’ve just always been me. No labels.”

Louis smiles. No labels. It’s quite a bold phrase, Louis can only imagine what that must be like. “That’s nice.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry hums. He puts down the pencil and picks a different one. This one thinner and the tip sharper.

Louis’ can’t help but ask. “What do you do for fun Harry?”

He’s always been someone to say what pops into his head right as it pops in his head, even if the conversation has veered far away from the subject or it’s completely irrelevant. He likes to be heard, which is understandable, but he always has some kind of dreaded opinion or comment.

Though, he can’t say it isn’t fun to see the reactions out of his friends.

“You know that I like to draw and paint.”

“Aside from that.”

Harry thinks it over for a second, hesitating with his next answer, “I don’t do anything else.”

“You have to have other interests.”

“No. I don’t.” He shakes his head.

“What about...sports? Everyone loves a good footy match.”

“Not me. I’m not a fan and I can’t play them.” He gazes towards Louis, squinting, and studies the shape and width of his nose. He turns back to his easel and erases the lines he had drawn earlier. Louis’ nose is more dainty in person than images and he’s drawing based off of the real thing.

“Video games?”

Harry scrunches his nose in distaste. “Not a favorite of mine.”

“Okay…” Louis sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as he thinks of other hobbies he can list off. “What about films? Do you like films?”

“Now that you mention it, yes. I do love a good film.” It’s partially true. He does like the occasional film, but he’s only answered to keep Louis quiet. Louis’ the kind of person who would list hobbies off for days until he got a proper answer.

Louis figures he can build off of that. “Yeah? And what kind of films do you like?”

“It depends, I guess. Romances are good. Comedies are good. Anything really. Except horror. I hate scary movies.”

“Sounds good. I’m sure we’ll be able to find a film at the cinema tomorrow. What time should I pick you up?”

Harry freezes, dropping his pencil, and gazes towards Louis. “Pardon?”

“What time should I pick you up?” Louis repeats.

“Who said anything about going to see a film tomorrow?”

“I did. Just now.” Louis says as though it’s obvious, which it sort of is.

Harry scoffs. “And you’re just assuming I want to go on another date with you?”

“Is my assumption wrong?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean - no, you’re not wrong, but why do you want to go out with me again? Wasn’t the first time bloody horrific?”

“Excuse me. I had a great time last week.” Louis points out. “And I want to go out again because you’re gorgeous and I think you’re a decent person, so can you quit being so fucking negative and accept the fact that I like you? What time should I pick you up at?”

Harry hates the word negative. It bothers him as much as the word pity, but instead of a comeback, he sighs, “Does five work?”

“Stellar. Five it is.” Louis slumps back against his chair with a smirk. “It’ll be good fun. Wear something nice.”

“Yes Louis. Anything for you.” He mutters, sarcastically, though it’s true.

He would do anything for Louis.

 **  
**  
  
  
Tomorrow night rolls around after a very successful drawing session. **  
**

Harry has finished the sketch, all that’s left is redefining lines and painting, and he hasn’t allowed Louis to take a glance at it. He doesn’t plan on showing him until it’s completely finished.

Louis shows up at his flat five minutes before five. He’s dressed in a burgundy sweater, draping off of his prominent collarbones, and a pair of black skinnies.

Harry sticks his head out moments later and he looks far more put together than Louis could ever imagine looking. He doesn’t care enough about his appearance. He has stylists who tend to his image everyday.

A black button up and a pair of black and white floral jeans decorate Harry’s slender body. Louis’ eyes widen at the sight and his mouth feels overly moist. He’s seriously drooling over Harry.

“What’s wrong? Do I look okay?” Harry glances down at his attire. “I can change if you want?” He suggests, beginning to turn away from Louis and slip back inside his flat.

“No!” He startles Harry. Grabbing his bicep with a gentle hand, he brushes his thumb over the flexed muscle to comfort him. “I’m sorry love. I didn’t mean to scare you. You look beautiful. Which of us is the famous one again?”

Harry giggles, lowering his head, and his long curls fall forward to cover his face. It’s endearing. Louis tucks his luscious hair back behind his ear and strokes his cheek in the process. “You put far more effort into your appearance than I do dear. Come along. We have a movie to go to.”

He steps aside and allows for Harry to walk ahead of him. Catching up to stroll beside him, he says, “I pre-ordered tickets for The Lady in the Van, hope that’s alright.”

“Which movie is that again?” Harry asks, sounding disinterested.

Louis laughs. “It’s that one about a lady living in a van. Literally. She lives on some famous guy’s driveway or something, I don’t really know.”

Harry mutters. “Sounds interesting, I guess.”

“You’ll probably enjoy it and when you do, I’ll remind you of your lack of enthusiasm.”

Harry flashes him a smile.

They get outside and Louis gives Harry all the time he needs to get situated before he takes his crutches from him and stores them in the trunk.

He slips into the front seat and starts the car. Usually his driving habits are reckless, but he knows to keep them more contained with Harry, which he does. He would never risk putting Harry in danger.

“How did you manage to get two days off in a row?” Harry asks.

“We have a few days off between tour dates, somehow we got a weekend thrown into the schedule this time. It’s nice.” Louis shrugs. “Do you still want to come to another show?”

Harry nods. “Definitely. I had fun at the last one.”

“Fantastic. Does Friday night work for you or are you busy?”

Harry arches an eyebrow. “You do realize you’re asking the least social human being on the face of the planet if they have plans on a Friday night?”

Louis smiles. Even laughs a little. At least Harry can poke fun at himself. “Does that mean I’ll be seeing your lovely face on Friday night?”

“Of course.” Harry answers.

“Just the answer I was looking to hear.” Louis smiles. “Maybe after you can come over to my house for a change?” he offers. “We’re in Sheffield which is closer to my place and I can drive you home Saturday.”

Harry thinks it over for a second, a single second, before he agrees. “Okay.”

“Just make sure you have everything you need, yeah?” Louis stresses, glancing over at Harry out of the corner of his eyes. “I have clothes you can wear and stuff, but - “

“I know what you mean.” Harry says. “I can’t afford to forget. Believe me, I’ll remember. We won’t be doing anything too adventurous will we?” he teases.

“We can do whatever. Watch movies or I can show you how to cook or...” Louis flips the volume dial down. The loss of music leaves them in complete silence. “I don’t know. Talk about our feelings or something.” He’s hinting on talking about their relationship status, but he doesn’t know if Harry will catch on.

Of course, Harry doesn’t. “You cook? You can’t be serious.”

Louis sighs. It isn’t worth explaining if the obvious speech he just gave flew right over Harry’s head. “I told you Harry, I have eight siblings. I did a lot of babysitting and a lot of cooking for kids who were sick of mac and cheese and chicken tenders.”

“That's crazy. I don’t know how you managed.” Harry reaches over and takes Louis’ hand in his. He squeezes. “I think I’d like for you teach me. Might be helpful.”

“I'll find something cultural for us then.” He brushes his thumb along Harry’s knuckles, wondering if Harry means anything by the affection he shows, or if Harry is naturally this way with everyone he meets once he’s comfortable.

He won’t know if he doesn’t ask, but he can’t build up the courage to. It’s ridiculous. He’s well over a millionaire and he can have anything he wants, but the one thing he wants is impossible to get.

Money can’t buy it for him. He has to earn it and it’s hard.

Pulling into and parking in the cinema lot, he shuts the car off and gives Harry a quick once over before stepping out of the vehicle. “I'll be right around.” He says.

And he’s true to his word. He trails around his car and Harry’s sat up, waiting for him, when he hands him his crutches.

Louis pulls his attention away from Harry as he stands himself up, knowing he doesn’t like attention on him when he’s struggling to do something.

He gives him a thumbs up once he’s stable and asks, “All right?”

“Good, yeah.” Harry sounds promising.

He walks in front of Harry, holds the doors open for him, and leads him to the ticket booth, where the ticketer hands him their tickets.

He slips them in his pocket for the time being and turns to face Harry. “You want concessions?”

“Is that okay?” he asks.

“Of course. I'll pay. What do you want?”

Harry shakes his head. “Louis I can -”

“No.” Louis interrupts him. “I'm treating you.”

“You're always treating me.” He complains.

It's a nice gesture and Louis is definitely a gentleman, but it’s redundant and Harry would like to be the one to treat him for once.

“And?”

“I want to pay for you at least once.”

Louis flicks his nose. He scrunches and recoils, only slightly. “You're silly. Come on.” He walks to the concession stand, expecting Harry to follow, but he doesn’t. “What do you want?” he asks.

But when he turns, Harry’s still standing in the middle of the lobby, looking like a lost animal, and Louis sighs. He sulks back over to him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don't - Louis, I feel so bad.” Harry whispers. “Please let me give you some money.”

“Fine. Give me a fiver later and we’ll call it even. Now come on or we’ll miss all the trailers. They’re my favorite.” Louis gestures for him to come along and he’s hesitant, but follows anyway. He doesn’t want to disappoint Louis.

Louis stares up at the menu board and peers over his shoulder at Harry after he’s decided. “Do you want to split a popcorn and a soda? That’s kind of romantic.”

“I guess.” Harry shrugs.

He isn’t sure what this entire romance thing is about. He’s only gone on a few dates to pubs and greasy diners and the most romantic thing he’s ever done is split a milkshake. None of the kisses or hugs or sexual activities ever appealed to him, he doesn’t choose to count them as anything special or romantic.

They didn’t satisfy him, only pacified him for the time being.

Louis presses. “Do you want anything else?”

“No.”

“What's your favorite candy?”

“I don't want anything else Lou.”

“Maybe I just want to know what your favorite candy is. Is that too much to ask?”

He knows Louis’ lying to him, but he wants the conversation to reach an end. “Gummy bears. I like gummy bears.”

It’s not surprising when Louis adds a bag of gummy bears onto their order of concessions, but Harry still tries his hardest to hold back complaints.

Louis takes all of the junk food items from the lady behind the counter. Harry immediately offers to help, though there’s not much he can do, but Louis insists he has it under control and shakes him off with a, “I may be small, but I'm not weak.”

They’re nearly in the theater when a girl runs to Louis and hugs him. He shouts in surprise, dumping a quarter of their beloved popcorn on the floor, and whirls around to face her.

“Christ.” He hisses under his breath. “What are you doing?”

Harry wants to tell him to calm down, wants to grab his shoulder and tell him it’s no big deal because obviously this girl is a fan and she’s probably waited years to meet him, but he doesn’t want to involve himself in something that isn’t his business.

The girl doesn’t seem to acknowledge the shift in Louis’ behavior. "Oh my god." She breathes. "My friend thought she saw you and I didn't believe her, but here you are and oh my god can I have a picture with you please? I love you so much. Oh my god.”

His exterior hardly changes. Seeing fans and meeting them used to thrill him, but he finds it to be tedious now. It's always the same thing. A fan, or a mob, find him and rant about their love for him and One Direction. He takes a picture or video with them, signs something, and sends them on their way. It's redundant.

He turns to Harry. "Is that alright babe?"

Harry starts to become nervous, that girl is glaring at him, and to think he wanted to help her a few seconds ago. He isn’t willing to do anything for her now.

His heart thumps against his sternum. Sweat forms at the base of his neck and hairline. Blood rushes to his cheeks. He hates the attention.

His body language completely shifts. His shoulders hunch, his face flushes, and his hesitation to make eye contact tell Louis that he's uncomfortable and panicking about something.

"Harry?" Louis tries, taking a step closer to him. Harry bows his head. “Harry? Look at me.”

Harry glances up and their eyes meet for a brief second before he drops the contact. "It's fine." He mutters. Louis swallows, doesn't say another word to him, and turns back to the fan. "Sorry about that love.” His worry causes him to forget the previous encounter with the girl. If being nice to her makes her get away from him quicker, than he’s willing to be nice for the few minutes it takes to snap a picture and sign a piece of paper. “He's a tad shy. You wanted a picture, yeah?" 

"Yes! Oh my god, yes." The fan nods at Louis, though his focus isn’t on her, instead primarily on Harry, and Harry knows it too. 

Biting down on his lip, he anxiously peers around the theater. People are staring their way now. He hates it. It isn't that he minds the attention Louis is receiving, he knows it's bound to be that way, but he can't stand the stares being thrown his way.

And it isn't because he's with Louis Tomlinson, no, it's because he's a flower of disability, while everyone else is an able-bodied bee. He stands out, he has everyone's attention, and he loathes it. 

His mum was always honest with him. Never filled him with that "people only stare because they're jealous" bullshit. 

There isn't anything to be jealous of. Certainly not his useless legs or his stupid voice or his weak immune system. 

They aren't jealous of him. They pity him and find him to be odd and the last thing he wants from people is their pity. 

He's been this way all of his life and he's made it work for the past eighteen years, he doesn't need anyone feeling bad for him or thinking of all the great things he could have been had he not been in a car accident as a baby. Had he not hit his head as a baby. Had he was given a chance as a baby.

It wasn’t a fucking birth defect. It wasn’t his mum’s fault. It wasn’t the delivery doctor’s fault. It was the damned drunk driver’s fault.

Of course, he’s in the rare percentage of people with cerebral palsy who accumulated it after birth. His mum had hoped there was no brain damage done to her two month old son and there wasn’t, he had been lucky.

Until he was older. Then he wasn’t as lucky. In fact, he wasn’t lucky at all.   
But there isn't such a thing as turning back time. This is reality. He's been this way all of his life and he'll always be this way. There isn't any use in trying to change what's inevitable. It is what it is.

Louis softly whispers, "What's wrong? Did something happen?" 

Harry shakes his head. His eyebrows furrow and he draws in a sharp breath, but still doesn't look up. "People are staring at me. I don't like it Louis. Can we please just go see the film?"

Louis pulls his focus from Harry and glances around the theater. He does find that there are a few eyes looking their way, but as soon as any eye contact is made, they clear their throats and look away.

"Babe, just ignore it, they're just - "

"Don't fucking say it." Harry seethes.

Louis hesitates. "Say what?"

"That they're jealous. They're not jealous of me. There’s nothing to be jealous of.” 

"I wasn't going to say that." Louis says. "If you would have let me finish I was going to say that they're ignorant. There's nothing wrong with you. They shouldn't stare at you."

“There’s nothing wrong with me? You’re full of shit. Look me in the eyes and fucking say that."

Louis does and he would grab Harry’s chin to further his point, if his hands weren’t full. "There’s nothing wrong with you. You're perfect.

Everything that you are is right." His jaw contracts. "Don't let a bunch of silly people get you down alright? They don't matter. Their opinions shouldn't mean anything to you."

Harry stares at Louis and slowly nods. "Okay." 

"Smile for me."

Harry tries to smile for him, though it's strained, but it's good enough for the time being. "Come on. We're going to have a great time." He leads Harry into theater three and they find seats in the back for the movie.

All they can hope for is a good film.   
  
  


  
  
The film isn’t good, not even a little bit, not even at all. If they were a couple, like a proper couple, it would have been a film they kissed for the entirety of.

“I was hoping it would be good. It seemed promising.” Louis tells him as they exit the film. “I mean - that may be the worst film I've ever seen.”

“I read up on it. It’s based on a true story, y’know?”

“Seriously? God, why do they make everything into a film?” Louis scoffs.

Harry smirks. “Didn’t you have a film a few years ago? I swear my sister drug me along. I think I remember her screeching whenever Niall popped on the screen. She loves that guy more than anyone.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Okay, but that’s different.”

“How?” Harry presses. He has a secret love for teasing Louis. It’s fun to get under his skin and even more fun to see him flush when he doesn’t have a reply to the torment.

“We’re bloody interesting Harry! There was quality content and -” Louis comes to a halt as soon as they step into the front lobby. Instantaneously all he can see is a mob gathered outside and their monstrous camera flashes. Their screams echo off the glass and all Louis can manage to say is, "Fuck."

"Please don't tell me all of those people are here for you." Harry whispers. 

Louis doesn't say anything, rubbing his forehead as he tries to mentally sort this dilemma out. This isn’t good. This really isn’t good. 

"Louis. Fuck. Tell me that all of these people are here for some movie premiere and not for you." 

And it’s a possibility, sure, but once the screams of endearment and his name are coherent enough to be heard, Louis knows that this crowd is definitely here to get a glimpse of him. By the looks of it, there are a few men in uniform trying to calm the crowd down and usher them away from the theater, but there’s far too many fans and paps. They’ll easily overpower them.

"Harry I...shit." he hisses. "That girl...she must’ve tweeted about seeing me. I'm going to call my bodyguard and see what he can do. Let’s go sit. We’re going to be here for a while.”  

Harry stares at the crowd and doesn’t pull his focus away until Louis touches his bicep. “Come on. There’s a longue right over there love. I’m going to ring my security guard and everything will be alright.”

They make their way over to the sofa sat in the center of the theater. There’s two other sofa’s encompassing it, but no occupants on any of them, only Louis and Harry.

Harry plops down on the center sofa and stares up at Louis, who looks like he’s about to jump through his skin. He’s stressed. Harry is too, not for his own sake, but for Louis’. That’s a lot of attention he’s getting and it’s bothersome, especially when they were having such a great time moments before.

Louis withdraws his phone from his back pocket and brings the device to his ear, only after searching for and finding his bodyguard’s contact.

Alberto picks up on the third ring. “Hello? Louis, what can I do for you, son?”

“I’ve got a bit of a problem.” he explains, pacing back and forth in front of Harry. “I went to see a film and now there’s a huge crowd outside the cinema and I can’t get out.”

“You went to the theater without calling for me or security?” Alberto sighs. He doesn’t sound surprised, rather he’s disappointed and slightly irritated.

“I assumed I could go unseen. I made a mistake.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, rubs his bicep with the pad of his thumb, and draws in a shaky sigh. The inside of the theater has hardly anyone inside, aside from themselves and employees, but then again no one can get past the crowd formed. There’s no use in pushing past a crowd as large as that.

“You think?” Alberto huffs. “How intense is the crowd?”

“It’s…pretty bad, yeah, and normally I’d say screw it but,” he lowers his voice. “Harry’s here with me and I don’t want to risk the crowd.”

Harry sighs at him. There it is. He understands the worry, but if it was a big enough issue, Harry himself would have pressed it. He definitely doesn’t need Louis fighting his battles for him.

Alberto hesitates over the line. “Alright. Hang tight. What cinema are you at?”

“Prince Charles’, I think.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, until then stay where you are and don’t rile the crowd anymore.” Without as much as a goodbye, Alberto hangs up, leaving Louis to his own.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and settles down in the seat beside Harry. “I’m really sorry about all of this. I didn’t think this was going to happen. It’s been awhile since the last time.”

By awhile he means a few weeks, if that. When you have twenty five million followers on Twitter, it’s hard to avoid massive attention. It’s one of the only bad parts of the job.

Harry ignores his apology. The crowd is making him apprehensive. He’ll be fine once there’s not people pressing their faces and cameras to the glass.  “What’s happening?”

“My bodyguard is going to meet us and he’ll decide what to do from there. We may need to get police involved, depending on how chaotic the crowd proves to be.”

“Does this happen a lot?” He’s hoping it doesn’t, but has a feeling it does. It must be awful for Louis to experience this on a daily basis. This is only his first time and he despises it. It’s one of the worst situations he’s ever been involved in and it’s just begun.

“More times than not.” Louis confirms. “It’s been happening for five years now. I’m used to it.”

“It’s annoying. How are you supposed to enjoy any free time with people stalking your every move?”

Louis forces a laugh. “Harry...I wouldn’t use the word stalking.”

“Then what is it? All of those people didn’t randomly find your location. It’s ridiculous to think that.” Harry points out.

“It’s called being famous. Shit like this happens all the time.”

“Well it’s fucking absurd.” Harry argues.

Louis rolls his eyes. “That’s your opinion.”

“Are you saying my opinion isn’t valid?”

“All I’m saying is my relationship with my fans isn’t your business. You don’t have to be so fucking negative about everything. It’s annoying.”

Harry has trouble biting his tongue with that comment, but manages to avoid uttering another word to Louis. He turns his face away and looks in the opposite direction, not understanding how someone can be calm about being stalked twenty four hours a day, whether it be through means of social media or reality.

With one strange look Harry’s a mess, skin flushed, eyes wide, and close to popping off. Louis must enjoy part of it to have a laugh about those screeching his name behind a panel of glass. They’re caged animals.

He doesn’t mind Louis defending his fans, but his little comments about being negativity get under his skin.

He already gets enough talks from his therapist about his consistency to be negative, so he supposes Louis is right about something for once. The talks are always concerning how things could be worse for him, he could be incapable of taking care of himself, and he should be happier, but the problem doesn’t lie within being sad. He’s not depressed. He’s angry.

Angry that he’s never been normal. Angry that he’s always been the weird kid. Angry that he has trouble forming relationships with anyone outside of his family. Angry that people don’t give him the benefit of the doubt. He has a lot to be angry about.

Every time he tells his therapist he’s angry, she tells him that he’s depressed and prescribes him a new antidepressant, which he never takes. He would stop going to those useless sessions if it wasn’t for his mum and her tendency to intrude.

She visits a few times each month, makes the drive down from Cheshire to see her little boy, and it’s nice to see her, it is, but she’s so fucking nosy.

He dumps his pills down the toilet before she arrives to make her think that he’s taken his pills. He uses his crutches the entire time she stays even if he isn't feeling well enough, so she won’t comment on how he’s getting worse when she knows he can’t get any worse. He even has a journal full of fake metaphorical shit to make her believe the therapy is working, but it’s never worked. It hasn’t worked for ten years and it sure as hell isn’t going to work now. But she believes it. All of it.

To make matters worse, every time she visits there’s some type of argument, about how he should move back in with her or how he should use canes instead of crutches or how he should get an automatic sink because he’s forgetful from time to time and floods his kitchen.

But, in his defense, it was a one time thing. He wishes she would forget it, but not her, oh no, never.

She means well and he loves her, of course, but she’s fucking annoying and if he quits going to his monthly sessions then she’ll be on his case and that’s the last thing he wants.

Once she’s on his back, she’ll never get off. It’ll be daily arguments and hourly check-ups and Harry is not willing to go through another lifetime of that.

He had to move out because of it, there’s no way he’s going to experience something as horrific ever again, so he’ll have to continue on with his dreaded counseling and the awful accusation of being depressed.

“At this rate we could probably see another movie.” Louis comments.

Harry hums in reply, glancing down at his fingernails, and purses his lips together. He’s pissed, indefinitely, at that comment Louis made.

“You can’t seriously be upset with me.”

“Oh. Can’t I?” Harry laughs.

“We were having a great time.”

Harry echos. “Were.”

Louis shakes his head. “Alright, since you’re being a sensitive twat again, I obviously said something to piss you off. What was it this time? My tone? Did I say the wrong word? What was it?”

“Sensitive twat? I quite like that one” Harry huffs. Louis must not know how to properly communicate with people or he seriously thinks he’s the shit for being an infamous dickhead.

Every tabloid ever created has recognized him as a prick, which he’s currently proving true, for making insensitive comments and cursing at everyone. It’s part of the reason he’s the least favored member in One Direction and Harry can see where the media gets their material. He tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, but here they are.

“I didn’t mean to call you a twat. I’m sorry.” Louis pinches the bridge of his nose. “Will you just tell me why you’re pissed?”

“I don’t like when you call me negative.” Harry reveals.

“Sorry?”

“You heard me. Don’t call me negative. I hear enough of that bullshit from my therapist and my family. If you’re going to start with it too then this might as well be good riddance.”

“Seriously?” Louis creases his eyebrows together.

Harry leans closer to him, gritting out, “Try me.”

Louis feels slightly threatened, though he knows Harry most likely won’t act on anything he says. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry for calling you negative. You’re a bundle of positivity.” he mumbles.

“Look,” Harry reprimands, glowering at Louis. His eyes harden and shift to a color with a greyer base. “I know I’m not exactly the happiest guy around, but that doesn’t mean you get to make comments about it.”

“Okay,” Louis sighs, “okay, not another word about it. I’m sorry.”

He’s still working out Harry’s quirks and it’s not coming to him as fast as he would like it too, but as long as he continues to learn, he doesn’t mind Harry correcting him, but he hates looking like a fool.

Harry subtly nods and squints his eyes towards of one of the cinema’s wings. “Is the guy who looks like the Terminator a friend of yours?”

A bulky man wearing a pair of black, over-sized sunglasses stealths towards them.

“My bodyguard actually.” Louis informs and stands up to greet the older gentleman. Harry stays seated beside him, sighing slightly. He wants to go home. That’s it. That’s all he wants and it isn’t too much to ask for, or at least he doesn’t think it is.

Alberto slides his sunglasses off his face and clips them to the front of his shirt. “How did you get in?” Louis asks.

“Through the back.” Alberto says. “I’m going to take the two of you through the back exit to my car. There’s less people that way.”

Louis nods, content with that plan, but then realization takes over. “What about my car?”

“I’ll send someone in the morning.”

“But Berto, that car - “

Alberto interrupts him. “There’s nothing we can do about it. Come on. This way.” He gestures for Louis and Harry to follow.

Harry stands up and allows Louis to walk in front of him. He feels a bit anxious, having never been in a crowd any bigger than ten people at a club, and he can only dwell on that fact as he marches to his impending death.

Louis, again, isn’t bothered, not even when they arrive at the back entrance and there’s screeching flooding through the cracks in the metal door.

Alberto turns to them. “I’m hoping it’ll be a bit more contained now that a few officers are here, but even so, I need you to stay very compact.”

“Compact?” Harry whispers.

“Stay right by me, okay? It’ll be alright. I promise everything will be just fine.” His reassurance sounds promising, but he’s experienced with this sort of mayhem, and Harry’s positive the crowd will swallow him up.

Alberto opens the door then and the screams intensify. Harry’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as he tries to fix his focus on Louis.

His voice comes out panicked and fast. “Louis, shit, I don’t think I can do this. I’ve never been in a crowd like this and what if I stumble and fall and oh my god. I hate when I fall Lou, and if I fall in front of all of those people I’ll never live it down and you’ll never live it down. I’m just so clumsy and I know I’m going to fall and I -.”

“Harry.” Louis whispers, stepping closer to him and cradling his cheek. “Breathe. I need you to breathe for me. It’s going to be okay. If we move fast, it’ll be okay.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no. I’m not fast. I, shit, I can’t do this Louis. I’m sorry but I can’t drag your reputation down. You don’t deserve that and I’m going to look like a fool and fuck it up and I’m so -”

Louis tries to meet his eyes, but Harry won’t even look his way. “Harry please calm down. It’s okay, shh. Look at me. ”

“I fucking hate myself. I’m going to mess this up and I’m so so sorry Louis, I mess everything up and -”

Louis doesn’t wait for him finish. “Fuck it.” He takes Harry’s face in both of his hands, pulls him closer, and presses his lips to his.

Harry gasps against his mouth, but doesn’t allow himself to pull away from the lingering gesture. It’s not exactly the kiss Louis first imagined with Harry. It’s not deep and sultry, rather it’s nervous and stiff, but Louis can’t say he dislikes it.

It’s Harry embodied in a kiss. Nervous and stiff.

But it doesn’t last for as long as he hopes.

Harry isn’t the one to pull away, though, Louis is, only after he feels Harry relax, and he pushes their foreheads together. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...yeah, good.” He breathes. “Better now.”

“As soon as we get outside, you’ll see, it’s not as bad as you think.” He promises and places another quick kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth.

“Come on boys. Behind me.” Alberto reminds. They hardly have any time before Alberto shoves his path through the crowd of young girls and intrusive paparazzi. Louis manages to coax Harry into moving ahead of him, trying to cushion him from the front and behind. Even though he isn’t the megastar, he calls for more protection in Louis’ mind.

Louis presses a hand to his back as if to keep him moving forward as savage yells and elbow jabs are thrown their way. The police try their hardest to contain the mob, but there’s only so much they can do with all the antsy grabs and shoves.

There’s more screaming and flashes coming from paparazzi than fans. Harry can’t make out what they’re bellowing at them aside from the occasional coherent word and phrase. All shouts consist of _Louis, your new boyfriend, Grimmy, who is he?_ Louis doesn’t answer a single question, instead keeps that one hand on H’s back and uses his other to block his face from pictures..

The walk to the car continues smoothly. Alberto pries the back door open for Harry and moves aside so Louis can squeeze in to assist him, but stands nearby, blocking them from half of the pap pictures.

Louis takes Harry’s crutches from him, only after he gets the okay, and Harry pulls himself in the vehicle. There isn’t time to get the crutches in the trunk, Louis hands them to Harry before climbing into the backseat.

Alberto slams the door and jogs around the front to get into the driver’s seat.

No one says a word until they’re at least three minutes away from the monstrosity they were caught in moments earlier.

Louis turns to Harry. Harry whose face is flushed to a pale pink. Harry whose gripping onto one of his crutches handles with strained, white knuckles. Harry whose head is bowed and breath is heavy.

“Harry.” He tries, softly, but doesn’t get a reply out of him. Harry has his forehead pressed to the cuff of a crutch and his body is shaking, no, trembling. Louis presses his hand to the base of his neck and gently massages his tense muscles. “Harry, are you alright?”

Finally, Harry finds his voice, though it hardly holds any vigor. “I don’t know how you do that every day. Fuck. That was awful.”

“The first time is always scariest. I’m use to it now, so it isn’t a big deal anymore, but I know you aren’t. Are you alright?” He repeats his question.

“I’m fine. It was just...too many people and I - “

“I know. You don’t have to say anything else. It’s okay,”

Alberto turns around in his seat once they’re at a red light. “Am I taking you back to the hotel Harry?”

Nervously eyeing Louis, Harry swallows. “I...I don’t know.”

Louis withdraws his hand from his neck, sliding down his spine until he’s near the middle of his back, and rubs circles against his shaking body. “It’s up to you H. Whatever you want to do is fine.”

“I’d like to go home.” There isn’t any hesitation and Louis can’t say he blames him, though he does shoot a quick glance his way, muttering a weak apology. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem. I understand. We’ll see each other on Friday anyways.” Louis leans forward and over Alberto’s shoulder, pointing at the GPS. “He lives in the Chestnut Meadow apartments.”   

He wonders if they’re going to discuss their kiss, but he isn’t surprised when not another word is spoken between the two of them.

Harry doesn’t say anything, not during the rest of the car ride, not once Alberto pulls into the parking lot, not even when he gets out of the car. He shuts the door without a goodbye or thank you or I’ll call you later.

Louis’ eyes follow him as he climbs the stairs and slips into the flat complex. He slumps against the seat. “I fucked up.” he whispers.

Alberto tells him. “I don’t think he’s meant for this sort of lifestyle Lou.”

Louis doesn’t disagree nor does he agree. He doesn’t say a word. He enjoys Harry’s company far too much to listen to a few candid comments disregarding him.

He’s the only one who can call the shots and he doesn’t want to call the wrong one and lose the greatest human he’s convinced he’ll ever met.

****  
  
  
  


By the time Monday morning comes around, paparazzi have already sold the rights to their pictures and tabloids have already written stories.

Louis doesn't see any of the stories and rumors. He doesn't look for them, doesn't bother reading his subtweets, and certainly doesn't search his name on twitter. Though, his disinterest isn’t shared with the rest of the boys. They’re always more than eager to see rumors circulating about themselves.

Louis doesn't see any of the stories until Zayn busts into his dressing room and shoves his phone in front of his face. “Bro, look at this.”

Louis blinks, drawing back from the device, and shoves Zayn’s hand back. He narrows his eyes. “Take it easy. What the fuck am I looking at?”

A glance at his phone has Zayn swearing under his breath and rapidly clicking to get back to the article links he had pulled up.

“Here.” He shows Louis the phone.

There’s multiple tweets with links to The Sun, along with pictures of himself and Harry, and a article headline reading: 1D Singer going in the Opposite Direction?

It’s a jab at Harry.

“Let me see.” He tries to take the phone from Zayn, but Zayn tightens his hold.

“No mate. It’s nasty. The article is entirely based off opinion and nothing is accurate.” Zayn informs him and swipes down, filling his phone with a group of tweets all picking at Harry. He reluctantly shows them to Louis.

Louis scoffs. “It’s...he’s not a paraplegic, how the hell does that even make any sense?”

“I don’t - “

Louis scoffs, growing more angry as he reads over the endless tweets that Zayn obviously feels he needs to see. "If he was a fucking paraplegic he'd be wheelchair bound, wouldn't he?" 

Zayn stares at him. "I don't know man." He sighs. "Does Harry have Twitter? You may want to warn him."

Louis doesn't know. He still doesn't know a whole lot about Harry, aside from rather basic things, but Harry's open to him. It's open for him to ask, he just hasn't taken the opportunity to ask those questions.

"He might." 

"Call him."

"Why would I do that?" Louis asks, slumping against the couch. He crosses his arms over his chest. It's hard to believe that Zayn's come up with such a horrific idea. "If he doesn't know, why should I tell him?"

"It's the right thing to do. He's going to hear about it somehow. Through the radio, the tv, family, friends, and when he does he's going to want to know why you didn't tell him and why you didn't step in and try to put a stop to it." 

This only angers him more. He stands up, inches closer to Zayn until he's right in front of his face. He doesn't shout, doesn't raise his voice in the slightest as he chastises him.  "You're done treating him like a piece of shit? You didn't give a fuck about him last week, so you don't get to give a fuck about him this week. What changed?"

"Nothing changed I just - " Zayn lowers his voice. "I like him. I think he's a nice kid."

"You've never talked to him." Louis walks past him. 

Zayn follows and pulls him back by his shoulder. "Listen. I know him and I probably got off on the wrong foot, but you seem to be fond of him and if you're happy then I'm happy. I can't speak for the other boys."

"He has it hard enough." Louis says, turns to face Zayn, and meets his eyes. "I don't want to hear you call him retarded ever again, do you fucking understand me?" His eyes are dark, intense, as he glares at Zayn. 

There's been tension between them, ever since the incident after they briefly saw Harry. He's faked their chemistry on stage, hitting Liam in the balls and jumping on Niall's back as many times as usual, but with more vicious intent. 

He doesn't play the whole discrimination card.

He's a white able-bodied male. He's Catholic. He has it easier than most.

Realizing his luck is the first step in not being an asshole and being prejudice against different sorts of people. He doesn't recall ever making comments about fans they've met. All of their fans are different, women, men, young, old, black, Asian, Latino, white, straight, gay, and it could go on for a few more lists.

And Zayn has it hard sometimes too. Being Muslim, he receives a lot of hate and assumptions, so he, out of anyone, should understand how minorities are treated. 

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing, "Louis it wasn't like that."

"I don't care." Louis whispers, tearing away from his hold. He's not going to let those comments go. Had Harry unfortunately heard them, he would have been upset, and Louis doesn't like to see or hear him upset. "Don't let me hear you say it ever again." 

"Why are you so protective over him? He isn't helpless. I know you care about him, but by being so fucking quick to take the damn bullet, you make it seem like he's helpless."

A thought hits Louis. "I don't think anyone's ever protected him Z." he whispers. 

"What about his parents?"

"His dad is - " He pauses. He wants the information he and Harry have talked about to stay confidential. "His dad isn't around and his mum babies him."

"At least she's good to him."

"Yeah, but it's not the same thing." Louis shakes his head. "Coddling someone and protecting someone are two different things." 

Zayn forces a weak smile. "I know, but it doesn't hurt to think that way."

"You're right, I guess." Louis says. He retrieves his phone from his back pocket. "I'm going to ring him." 

"Good. I'm going to - "

"Stay." Louis answers, brushing his fingertips against Zayn's hand. "You're going to stay, right?"

"Yeah..." Zayn says slowly.

Louis has a charismatic and flirty personality. He's good at getting what he wants and his mum always told him if you're good at something always use it to the best of your ability.

Louis settles onto the sofa and pulls up Harry's contact. Zayn sits on the arm beside him and watches with curiosity. 

The phone rings, once, twice, three, four times before Harry answers. His voice is tired and raspy like he's just woken up. "What Louis?" He mumbles. Louis hesitates, indicating something isn't right, and Harry's breath hitches in his throat. "Louis? What's going on?"

"You can't get angry with me."

"That's always a great way to start a fucking conversation.” Harry mutters. “Tell me what's going on."

"Tabloids have pictures of the two of us from yesterday."

Harry swallows thick. "And?"

Louis begins to ramble. "There's this article too, you know, and it isn't exactly accurate. It isn't accurate at all actually. It's complete bullshit and I don't want you to worry because I'm going to see what I can do about it but I don't know if -"

Zayn creases his eyebrows. He's never heard Louis sound nervous, not like this at least, and over a boy too. It's surprising. He places a hand on Louis' shoulder and squeezes in what's supposed to be assurance. 

"Where are you going with this?"

"It was nasty Harry. I just - if you see any of that or hear any of it, I want you to know that it isn't true and like -"

"Louis." Harry says calmly. 

" - I'm sorry that the media is so poorly constructed you don't deserve any of that negativity and I know I called you negative but - "

Harry repeats. "Louis."

" - you don't deserve to be treated like an animal because you're actually perfect okay. Fucking perfect and I don't want you to think any less." He comes to a stop and catches his breath.

There's silence on both ends of the phone. 

"Are you done?" Harry asks.

"Yeah."

"I've already seen the article." Harry says, sounding unimpressed by Louis' efforts.

Louis can't breath. The truth is squeezing the air out of his lungs. "What?" 

"Yeah." Harry dryly laughs. "I have a subscription. The article is on their homepage." He doesn't have much else to say about the subject.

There's nothing to say.

"Oh." Louis whispers. 

"Yeah. I never knew I was paralyzed in a freak accident. I'm slowly regaining the ability in my legs apparently. I must be a fucking mutant at the rate I'm recovering at." He doesn't sound upset, rather he's slightly amused. Then there's a pause on his end. "You don't think I'm a downgrade do you?"

"No love, of course not. You’re such an incredible person. If anything, you’re an absolute upgrade.”

Harry sighs. "Says you're with me out of pity and you know I -"

Louis interrupts. "Hate the word pity. I know, babe, believe me I know. We've been over this before." 

"I worry that you'll see me in a different way." Harry admits. 

"Then let me promise you. Get your tape recorder out. I won't say it again." 

"What are you promising me exactly?"

"I promise I will never pity you." Louis says. "You're normal and independent H. There's nothing to pity you for."

Harry sighs. "I know you've said it before, but it's so refreshing to hear from someone who doesn't have to say it." 

"I bet it does."

"Thank you for calling me and being honest. I appreciate it." 

"Of course. It must be quite a change for you and if you're struggling I want you to let me know. I want you to be honest with me."

Harry breathes out a laugh. "I'll keep it in mind. The same goes for you, you know? I know I'm not the most sophisticated person, but if you need someone to talk to. I'm always here. Literally." 

"I know." Louis smiles. "It's early. I'll let you get back to sleep. Bye babe."

"Bye Lou." The phone clicks off and Louis looks to Zayn. 

"If I didn't know any better I'd say the two of you were a couple." he says.

"I think we are."

Zayn arches an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Louis breathes. "He just doesn't know it yet." 

"You've kissed?"

“Yeah," Louis says, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "And it was really fuckin’ weird. He was hesitant, but he warmed up to the idea, I think. He hasn’t said anything about it. I just hope it doesn’t backfire on me. I want to talk about it with him, y’know, tell him he makes me feel different than anyone ever has."

"Then you should, Don’t let fear hold you back, yeah?” Zayn stands up. “You're doing a good thing Lou. Everything will be okay.”  he says, squeezes his shoulder one last time, and slips out of the room.

Louis glances towards the door and sighs. "I hope."


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s big.” Harry breathes, taking a few slow steps into Louis’ flat. He’s hesitant, very hesitant, Louis’ apartment is not only large, but bleak and unwelcoming, the opposite of what he thought it would feel like, considering Louis’ own boisterous and outgoing personality.

This home doesn’t represent who he is, not even a little bit, not even at all, and Harry thinks it's maybe because he doesn't have the time to decorate, but that seems like a lie. He's only lying to himself.

There isn’t any decorations hanging from the walls, aside from a few oddly placed picture frames, and only a couch and flat-screen television decorate his front room. For being as rich as he is, Harry would have assumed it would be a more lavishly designed home, with maybe an indoor hot-tub and a mini-bar, but it’s completely bare. The walls are a plain beige color and the carpet a bright white. It doesn’t have a particular theme aside from old couple living in a condo, but even then that’s a bit of a stretch.

His front room is very likely the size of Harry’s entire flat. It’s okay, though, Harry loves his small flat and the scale of Louis’ doesn’t intimidate him. It’s the bare walls and lack of effort that intimidate him.

Louis watches Harry inspect his living room. He has a hiking backpack hauled over his shoulders as if the two of them were going on a week long camping trip, even despite Louis telling him he didn’t need to pack much, he said would take care of everything, clothing, toiletries, basically anything that isn’t his medicine because Louis doesn’t know what he takes and even if he did, he most certainly doesn’t own it.

“Do you like it?” Louis asks, approaching Harry at a steady pace as to not startle him, and places a hand on the back of his neck. Even with the speed he moves at, Harry still nearly jumps out of his skin, but when he turns his head and meets Louis’ eyes, his facial expression visibly softens.

“Hm?”

Louis squeezes his neck then gives his own home a quick once over. He cleaned up for Harry, or tried to at least. Usually there’s an abundance of food wrappers and dirty clothing sprawled everywhere, but he can’t risk Harry tripping over something and falling. He wouldn’t forgive himself, ever, and he wouldn't expect Harry to either. Instead, the dirt and grime of his flat is all pushed off to one corner for tonight, but it will slowly creep it's way back into the center in upcoming days. “My apartment. Do you like it?”

“Oh. Well, uh…” Harry hesitates, biting down on his bottom lip as he thinks of a polite answer. There isn’t a whole lot of nice thoughts crossing his mind though. “It’s clean. Different than what I had pictured, but it’s quite impressive and large. Have you lived here for a long time?”

“About a year. I was living at home, but it was too hard to continuously leave my family behind to go on tour and stuff. This way, if I don’t see them everyday, it doesn’t sting as much, y’know? Talking on the phone with someone I miss and hanging up doesn’t bother me as much as being with them and having to leave whenever it’s inconvenient.”

Harry wants to say that he doesn’t understand, but he debates against it. He moved out because of his mum’s antics. He needed to get away from her. Her constant worrying and coddling was stressful on everyone to the point of her fiancé debating leaving due to her lack of concern for their relationship.

And Harry couldn’t have Robin leaving his mum, not when he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her since his dad passed away. Harry tends to ruin and put strain enough aspects of life and his mum’s love life is not something he wants to mess up.

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” Harry mumbles. A pain shoots up his spine and he winces. He should really know how to pack lighter. He knows shouldn’t be forcing a whole lot of pressure on his body at all, never mind his spine which keeps him intact all together, but he always thinks he'll need more clothing and medicine then he actually does. There’s a slight pause before he asks, “I don’t mean to start complaining, but after standing for the show and carrying this bag, my back is killing me. Do you think I can set my bag down?”

Louis doesn’t hesitate for even a moment. “Sure love. We can just lay down on the couch and watch a film if you want and I’ll go put your bag in the guest room.”

Harry doesn’t argue with him. He continues onward, slips towards the large L shaped couch in the center of the living room, and slowly, he takes a seat on the edge of one of the cushions. Letting go of his crutches, one by one, he places them to the side, and as he goes to slide his backpack off his shoulders, Louis’ dainty hands beat him to it.

He looks over his shoulder and stares at Louis in surprise. No one, aside from his mum and Gemma, has ever assisted him without being asked, but Louis just steps in wherever he finds a gap in movement or motivation.

His friends and ex-boyfriends never even gave it much thought either. They would rather watch him struggle then help him do what they called “ridiculously simple” tasks. Harry isn’t completely disabled, he should be able to do most things on his own, or at least that's what they led themselves to believe.

It's mostly true though. Harry can do most things on his own, but sometimes he gets too tired or sick to do anything and every task he has to accomplish takes more effort than it should.

His hands aren’t directly affected by CP, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the effects of the extra strain he has to put forth day in and day out. It’s exhausting having little to no function in his legs and having to force his body to do things that should be easy. They’re everyday capabilities for most, but for him it’s a struggle, a daily struggle.

It’s a struggle for him to walk more than a few feet without having sharp stabs shoot up his legs. He’s thankful for his pump, his little pump surgically implanted in his abdomen, because without that he would be laying in bed for the majority of his life. The pain gets to be overwhelming and hard to bear and he would never be able to persevere through something as excruciating without it.

He had the pump put in when he was still in college. It’s a reservoir hooked to a catheter in his spinal cord. Pain medication is carried from the pump to his spinal cord and nerves over an extended period of time. It’s supposed to take care of his pain before the signals reach his brain, but of course, it has it’s ups and downs as everything does.

Harry lets him slide the backpack handles off of his arms without objecting once and Louis never says a word, not a demand for a thank you or a complaint. He walks off to the guest bedroom and returns minutes later with a stack of movies.

He sets them down on the coffee table, spreading them out so Harry can see the options, but maybe they’ll just watch a cable movie. Whatever Harry wants to do is more than fine by him. “I know it’s like midnight, but are you hungry? Is there anything I can get for you?” He asks, settling into the empty spot beside Harry.

“You’re my friend, not my servant. I’m fine.” Harry tells him.

Louis presses. “Your friend?” He tries not to sound offended, but he can’t help the way it comes out of his mouth.

“Is there a problem with that?” Harry asks, creasing his eyebrows together, as he tries to take his shoes off.

“I just thought…” Louis begins. “I thought that we were something a bit more official. I didn’t realize you still classified us as friends. I thought maybe the kiss meant more to you."

“Being friends isn’t a bad thing Louis. It’s not that I don’t like you. I do like you, I really do, more than a friend even...I just, this is all moving so quickly and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it and I - fucking hell!” He shouts and a frustrated groan falls from between his lips. He can’t undo his shoes. His damned fingers are betraying him tonight and he’s growing increasingly annoyed. Perhaps cutting his fingers off one by one would be more rewarding.

Louis doesn’t wait for Harry to continue on with a possible foul mouthed speech. “I’ve got it. Take it easy, would you? I don’t need you having yourself a tantrum over a pair of shoes. It isn’t worth it.” He gets down on his knees in front of Harry and undoes the velcro pulled across the top  of his shoes.

Harry shuts his eyes and sighs.

He’s slightly embarrassed and truthfully he feels he has a right to be. For the love of God, they’re velcro tennis shoes, he doesn’t have to untie or unzip anything, and he feels like a child. He’s wearing children’s shoes, fucking little kid’s shoes, because they’re easier to put on and take off, except for right now, and orthopedic.

“Here.” Louis says, pulls his shoes off, and sets them evenly off to the side. He doesn’t say anything about them being little kid shoes, instead he stands up and returns to his spot beside Harry. “Anyway, about this friends thing, I don’t know Harry. I think you’re - “

Harry interrupts. “You’re not going to make fun of me?”

“Uh. No?” Louis arches an eyebrow. “Make fun of you for what? Why would I make fun of you?”

Harry laughs. “Why would you make fun of me? Why would _you_ make fun of _me_ ? Ha! I have to wear shoes made for _children_ and I can’t undo the velcro on them. A two year old can even do that.”

At this point, Louis’ disgusted by Harry because how can Harry sit there and pull out every tiny detail and make it into this large issue that won’t even matter by the time the sun rises tomorrow. “God Harry. Listen to yourself. You’re so caught up on all these little situations and you treat yourself like shit. Who hurt you? Who said you weren’t good enough?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Harry asks, facial expression crumbling entirely, and he curls his lip in between his teeth.

“I mean someone must have genuinely hurt you, told you over and over again that you're useless or not good enough or something. I have never met such an insecure person someone who is unable to ever say anything nice about themselves. Who was it? Who put those ideas in your head?” Louis asks. He doesn’t sound angry, rather he sounds upset and concerned. Pulling his legs up on the couch, he watches Harry do the same, but at a slower, less coordinated pace. 

“Nobody hurt me.” Harry replies, dryly.

Louis meets his eyes and blurts out, before he properly thinks it through, “Then why are you such a miserable person?”

“I’m disabled Louis.” He says as though it’s obvious, which it is, but there’s more beneath the surface. There has to be.

“And I’m a gay man, what’s your point? Just because you're disabled doesn’t mean that’s all you are. It’s the same thing if I were to use my homosexuality as an excuse for everything.” Their eyes stay locked on each other. Neither of them allows emotion to cross their faces. “But I don’t and you shouldn’t either. There’s a lot more depth to you aside from physical disability.”

Harry’s the first to look away. He shakes his head at Louis and a forced laugh ripples through his chest. “Right, you know exactly what it’s like to be me. I’ve only known you for a few weeks and you act like you’ve known me all of my life. It pisses me off. You don’t know shit, yet here you are trying to get me to talk about my feelings or whatever.”

“It’s working isn’t it?” Louis presses. “If we’re going to make this relationship...this friendship, whatever the fuck you want to call it, work then you’re going to have to be open with me Harry. I can’t be around someone who is constantly angry and constantly pitying himself. You don’t want pity from other people? Well shit, you pity yourself a hell of a lot.”

Harry glowers at Louis. “You don’t know me, okay? You haven’t been here for my surgeries. You haven’t been here for the discrimination that I go through on a daily basis. You haven’t been here for all of my failed relationships, so if you were a real friend, you’d get your nose out of my fuckin’ business and we would move on.”

“Why are you angry at me for giving a shit about you?” Louis asks. “It isn’t my fault that you’re disabled, pal. I’m not the root of your problems. I think you need to reevaluate how you talk to me because I’m not some toy you get to stomp on whenever you’ve had a bad day. I can’t help how you feel or how other people treat you. I account for my own actions. You’re so afraid of people treating you differently, but you make it easy for them to. You draw attention to your disability by acting like that Harry and it’s sad, it is so sad, and I hope you realize someday that you are so much more than a kid with a paralyzed face and disabled legs.”

Harry shakes his head at him. “You...Christ, you think I don’t know that? I’m an artist. I’m a college graduate. I was at the top of my class. I know that I’m more than some handicap, but it isn’t fair that I have to look at myself in the mirror everyday and stare at my reflection. My reflection is all what anyone ever sees. I’m not worth anything to anyone Louis. People don’t ever take the fuckin’ chance to get to know me because my crutches and my chair are the only things they see and when people do get to know me, they make assumptions and act just like you are right now and that’s why I’m angry.” His words are coming out fast and slurred and Louis can’t understand most of what he’s saying, but the end part sticks out indefinitely.

“Harry…” Louis sighs. “Babe. Fuck. I don’t know what to say here. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“I know you didn’t.” Harry says and fuck, he’s near tears, and shit, Louis feels awful. “You know, my therapist says I tend to put walls up because I’m depressed and when you’re depressed you don’t have the motivation to make things right and sort yourself out, but I think she’s full of shit.” He explains, sounding much more calm and collected now. He must have needed to get that outburst out of him.

Louis wonders how much pent up anger Harry has. All he knows is he doesn’t want to be there when Harry completely combusts. This, this was just a sneak peak of the future, and it was intense enough. He’s thankful it’s over now, or at least he hopes it’s over.

“What do you mean?”

Harry shrugs. “I’m not depressed or at least I don’t feel like I’m depressed. You’re right though. I’m angry. I’ll admit that.”

“Be honest with me then. Why are you angry?”

“Why am I angry?” Harry repeats, hesitates for a few moments, and unexpectedly, the words fall out with fierce emotion. “I’m angry because I can’t walk more than ten feet on my own without falling flat on my face. I’m angry because I don’t deserve to be like this. I never had a chance Louis. Never! I don’t want to be like this, but I never had a choice. I’m stuck like this and it’s fucking infuriating. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t. I wish I could stand up and run around with a football like every other guy my age or run errands like everyone else but I can’t because I’m fucking stuck like this.”

“Hey.” Louis leans forward, takes the area right below Harry’s elbow, and wraps his hand around the tense muscle. “Harry, stop, listen to me.”

“Oh great.” He spits. “What are you going to tell me now? I don’t deserve to be angry? It could be worse?”

“No you deserve to be angry. You deserve to be angry more than anyone else I know, but not like this. You shouldn’t have to scream your emotions out, obviously no one has ever given you the opportunity to sit and talk about your feelings without interrupting you or insulting you and you need that.”

“What do you know?” Harry practically laughs. He can’t be serious. He doesn’t know anything about anything.

“I know that someday I hope to hear you talk and never stop. I want to know what your fears and passions and wonders are. What your view of the world is. How big you think the universe is. How many nights you think it takes to count the stars. Someday I want to hear your entire story from start to now and I really do hope that you open up to me like that.”

Harry calms down as Louis speaks. His muscles relax and his body sags against the couch. For some reason, listening to Louis’ voice is soothing and helps him find his inner peace. He doesn’t say much, he doesn’t have to, and Louis doesn't expect him to.

Louis pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and slides in closer to sit beside him, so they can share a single blanket. Harry’s body heat radiates off of him like quick sparks of electricity, sending blasts of warmth in Louis' direction.

Once they’re comfortable, Harry lays his head down on Louis’ lap and sprawls himself out across the cushions. Louis moves his hand to the top of his head and his fingers gently card through his thick, messy strands of hair.

A movie is playing in the background, on low volume. It looks sort of like one of those independent movies about angsty high school teens, but Louis isn’t too sure, there’s too many movies like that to truly know.

“It’s impossible to count all of the stars.” Harry whispers.

Louis glances down at him. “Huh?”

“Counting the stars, it’s impossible, or, well, it’s possible but it would take an infinity. You could never do it in your lifetime.” Harry explains, shifting to lay on his back to look up at Louis. “There’s so many stars that we never even see, let alone could imagine counting. It’s crazy.”

Louis smiles at him, nodding in silent agreement, and thinks it over to himself for a second.

Harry Styles is absolutely correct, but with much more than his theory of space and the stars, and Louis realizes then that he is the smartest person he’s ever met. He has so much insight about a variety of different things and he does allow for his emotions to have a role in everything, but that makes him much more understandable and genuine.

 

 

 

 

Louis wakes up the next morning to Harry not beside him anymore. They fell asleep on the couch, cuddling, but now Harry isn’t wrapped in his arms. He slowly sits up and gives his front room a quick once over, only to realize that Harry isn't here with him anymore. “Harry?” He calls out, standing up, and peeks into the kitchen.

He's not there either, but he's still in the flat somewhere because his shoes are lying where Louis put them last night. “H? Harry, where did you go?” He wonders and slowly makes his way down the hallway. “Where are you love? Harry?”

He goes to his own room, the guest bedroom, and the hall closet, but nothing’s been touched. There's no sign of him physically. It’s as if he's vanished, but his stuff hasn’t, his backpack is right where Louis left it last night, on the bed in the guest room. His crutches are gone from the living room, so Louis knows that he’s gone somewhere, whether that somewhere is in Louis’ flat, he doesn’t have a clue.

“Fuck.” He whispers to himself and checks the second guest room. He isn't there either. Louis continues to check room after room with no luck, nothing has been moved, and he doesn’t know where Harry has possibly wandered off to.

It isn't until he’s walking back down the hallway that he notices the bathroom door is shut and that’s odd, he never keeps the bathroom door shut. He walks to the door and knocks on the wood with somewhat ease. Deciding to try the handle, he finds it to be locked. “Harry, are you okay?”

There isn't a reply for quite some time. A clearing of Harry’s throat ensues before he speaks. “‘M f...fiiine.” That's strange. He sounds quite disoriented and strung out, like he’s just done a full night of drinking. Louis knows he hasn’t, but he's left wondering why his words are so severely slurred when Harry doesn’t say anything else.

“Harry.” He presses, his voice grows more concerned and he leans his shoulder against the door, knocking. “Open the door.”

Harry doesn't a say a word. He doesn’t even make a noise.

“Harry, so help me, if you don't open the door I'm going to force it open.” Louis threatens. Though a reply still doesn't come out of Harry, he tries the handle again. “I’ll knock this door down Harry. You might as well open it. Don’t do this to me.” He says because Harry does not sound fine. He just doesn’t. Not with that tone or that enunciation.

It isn’t a hassle to open the door, not really anyways, the lock has been faulty for as long as Louis has owned the place. All he has to do is curve it a specific way and wiggle it a few times and it’s open.

He steps inside and finds Harry sitting on the floor, trembling, his body is rocking, all because his legs are spasming, contracting in oddly timed intervals.

“Jesus Christ.” Louis doesn’t hesitate, he moves over to kneel beside him, and their eyes meet. “What’s wrong?” He asks, touching Harry’s clammy cheek. “Babe, it’s okay, tell me what’s going on.”

The truth is Harry’s shaking all over, there’s a severe tremor wracking through his body and there isn’t anything he can do to stop it. “Mmm…” Harry tries, but shakes his head once he realizes that he won’t be able to get it out. His legs are tensing and relaxing as his hands form into fists. He’s trying to find another way to relieve the frustration since he can’t verbally get it out.

He tries to grab Louis’ hand but he misses each time he attempts until Louis finally grabs his hand and tells him, “Calm down. I’ve got you. It’s okay. I’m right here. Are these the spasms you were telling me about a while ago?” He asks, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the tightness of Harry’s knuckles. Harry nods and shuts his eyes, letting his head fall back against the tiled wall. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Louis asks. “Do you need something to make it stop?”

Harry shakes his head, eyes remaining closed, and a quiet groan leaves his mouth, “Hhh…haaate thiiis.”

“I know love.” Louis whispers, kisses his forehead, and tucks his bangs behind his ear.

He doesn’t know. He has never seen anyone shake like this before and he doesn’t know how to react or how Harry’s feeling, but he does know that he needs to help him breathe through it. “It’s okay. How long does this usually last?”

“Fe…eew mmm…mmmiii…” Harry tries and tries, but no matter how slow he attempts to take it, the words won’t form.

“Minutes? A few minutes?” Louis figures to which Harry nods. Louis shifts from his knees to sit flat on the ground and he runs his hand through Harry’s hair, stroking the shiny curls that cascade past his shoulders. Harry pushes his head against Louis’ touch and even lets out a soft sigh.

The spasms stop after a few minutes pass. His legs are still contracting a little, once every twenty seconds maybe, but the color floods back into his cheeks. “Thank you.” He whispers.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but what the fuck was that?”

“Effect of CP. The muscle tone causes a reaction like that sometimes because it’s always pulled so tightly. I had to wait for my pump to react and for the medication to set in. It’s usually quicker than that.”

Louis asks, as if it’s the most bizarre thing he’s ever heard, “Pump? What do you mean and what’s it reacting to? That’s the second time I’ve heard you talk about it.”

“I have a intrathecal pump around here,” Harry says, placing his hand on his lower abdomen, “and a catheter in my spine, so whenever my body, my legs especially, start to hurt or spasm like that the pump is supposed to administer medicine to make it better, but I think I need to have a refill.”

“You have a pump?” Louis asks, in awe, “Does it…like doesn’t it hurt? Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“No. At first, when I got it, it hurt a lot but that’s because it was a two and half hour procedure and there were two incision spots and no matter what way I laid they hurt, but now I forget that it’s there.”

Louis listens closely, never drawing his eyes away from Harry for a moment, “How do you refill it if it’s inside you?”

“I have to go to the hospital and have one of my doctors or a nurse do it. They take a needle and stick it into my stomach to reach the port. Do you want to see where it is?” Harry asks and Louis’ caught off guard. Harry never offers to show him anything. All of his questions usually get cut off with a hasty remark or a demeaning glare.

Louis hesitates. “Uh. Is that okay?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t. Here, I’ve just got to sit up a bit, give me a second, alright?” Slowly, Harry clambers into a upright position, no longer using the wall to support himself, and he pulls his t-shirt off. The scars are revealed, a large horizontal one around his lower abdomen and a vertical one farther up in the center of his back.

Louis makes sure to ask before he touches, “They don’t hurt anymore, right?”

“Don’t be silly. I had the operation my second year at Uni, it’s not even sore anymore Lou, it’s fine.” He isn’t expecting Louis to touch him but when the cold press of his fingertips graze his back, a shiver sparks up his spine and he gasps.

His fingers drag away from the scars until he’s just rubbing Harry’s back. “The scars make you look kind of edgy. Punk rock, maybe."

“Yeah until you realize why they’re there.” Harry laughs. “Trust me I already know how unattractive they are.”

Louis shakes his head at Harry, only continues to rub his back. His muscles are tense and Louis realizes that Harry has probably never had anyone, aside from family, sit with him and do something as simple as rubbing his back. “Shh. You’re beautiful. They’re different and it’s okay to be different Harry. It is. You know I’d be the first to tell you if something was wrong with that.” Louis whispers. His fingers skim up his back, over his neck, until his fingers curl around the knots in Harry’s hair.

He stands up then, untangling his fingers from Harry’s hair, and he moves to the outer edge of the bathroom. Harry’s eyes narrow and his head tilts slightly as he watches Louis take a hairbrush from his cabinet.

Louis returns and drops down to sit near him again. “I want to brush your hair, is that okay?” He asks and Harry hesitates for a second, but nods. “Sit between my legs, yeah? It might be more comfortable for you.”

Harry creases his eyebrows together, not quite understanding the concept. That is, until Louis spreads his legs into the shape of a ‘v’ and pats the space between. Harry crawls to Louis, but even then it’s hard for him to move at a normal pace.

There isn’t any pressure though. Louis always makes sure to try and relieve the tension in the room because Harry’s already an anxious person and if he gets the wrong idea then he becomes flustered.

Harry gets between Louis’ legs and puts one hand flat on the tiled floor and the other on Louis’ thigh. Louis doesn’t react, at all, doesn’t even make a noise in protest. He doesn’t even offer his help because he knows Harry has it. Harry has been in this sort of situation all of his life and Louis is only a new part of it. He doesn’t know half of it.

Harry very slowly twists his body, taking his one hand off the floor, while the other presses into Louis’ thigh and he sits his bum on the ground. As soon as he’s comfortable, he removes his hand from Louis’ leg.

“All right?” Louis asks.

Harry breathes. “Good now, yeah, sorry that I had to use you for support.” His breathing is a bit exerted from having to put strain on his body, but Louis knows it will fade in a few minutes. As it always does.

“Sit back love. You don’t have to strain yourself. I don’t want you putting more pressure on your back.” Louis leans forward, just a bit, and puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder, guiding him back to a position that comfortable for him and accessible. 

“I don’t think I’ve had anyone brush my hair since it's been this long. I’m flattered.” Harry says to him.

“Well I’m happy to be the first.” He takes the brush and starts at Harry’s scalp and glides the bristles to the ends. It gets caught a few times but Louis is able to, very gently, work the knots out. “You’d be surprised at how many school mornings I would have to wake up and do my sisters hair. Seven in the morning and they trusted their older brother to braid their hair, god, and at first I had to redo it over and over again because apparently the knots were always too crooked and they had boys to impress.”

Harry nods and shuts his eyes against the sensation of the bristles vibrating over his scalp. It feels good. Gemma used to brush his hair when he was younger. Before he got the tremors under control he could hardly hold a brush in his hands, let alone brush his hair, but Gemma always did it for him and never complained. They spent most of their time in her room, so she would have Harry sit in front of her on her bed while she knelt into the mattress behind him.

Sometimes Harry would even let her do his makeup, just a bit of blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick stolen from their mum when they were younger, but as she got older and decided to become a professional cosmetic artist, the bright hues of makeup faded and she would contour his cheeks and pluck his eyebrows.

He never minded it, felt like he owed her for all those years of babysitting and helping him do his chores because no, his mum never treated him differently.

If she told him to go into the kitchen and do the dishes, he would find a way. If she told him to fold laundry and put it away, it would get done. It was never something where Gemma had to pick up the slack of his situation, Anne never expected anything less from him than Gemma.

He was expected to go to school and maintain a decent grade point average on top of doing chores and maintaining small individual jobs. He would babysit the neighbor's kids from time to time depending on how well he was feeling. Eventually though, they moved into his mum’s new husband's house, which surprisingly had all the accommodations Harry needed, and Robin lived right next door to his business, a small stationary store.

Harry worked there whenever he had the time to. It wasn’t too rough after Robin showed and taught him all the skills he needed. Most of the time he worked in the back, unpacking shipments of paper and cards or setting up displays, the nautical ones were his favorite, but sometimes he would be bold enough to work up front where Robin allowed him to use his chair.

He never liked being a cashier there. His hands shook until he was finally prescribed a medication that helped with the spasticity and because of that he often messed up orders or pressed the wrong buttons.

By the time the spasticity of his hands was an issue resolved, he was already being shipped off to Uni, but his leg spasms never completely stopped. They have always been bad and inconvenient.

For the most part they’re under control, but this morning he woke up with twitches in them and he knew it was bound to be detrimental. It doesn’t hurt exactly, it’s just exhausting and aggravating and everything in between, and he hates that Louis saw him go through one of his fits. Even if he didn’t show any signs of disgust or fear, Harry feels like he likes him a little less. 

“You have gorgeous hair. I would grow my own out if it were thicker, like yours.” Louis says, softly, running the edge of the brush over the part in Harry's hair. “Does it feel good, H?"

Harry whispers. “Really good. I haven’t been pampered like this since before Uni. I lost all of that when I wanted to be independent and live on my own.”

“Would you change things? Do you still wish you were at home?” Louis asks, rather interested. “I imagine it was a hassle for you, but do you miss being able to rely on your family?”

“I wouldn’t change things for the world. I love the freedom. Don’t get me wrong, mum is...she’s a sweetheart and I wouldn’t dream of having anyone different for a mum, but living at home was rough. She’s headstrong and a worrier and I love her to death, but I still have to hear about the littlest details when she comes over, y’know.”

Louis pauses for a second. “Like what?”

“Like if I’m struggling with my crutches, which I do because I’m clumsy and I trip over my feet, you know that, she gets angry and suggests that I permanently use my chair or I move back in with her. We argue a lot.”

“Seriously? What do you say back to her?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “What don’t I say? We argue back and forth and I know she means it with love but it is so annoying to have someone stand there and tell you you’re incapable when you know that you definitely are. I’ve been by myself for almost two years and yeah, I know, I make mistakes, but I am so capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know that.” Louis says softly. “You don’t have to tell me any different. Your mum...it sounds like she cares, a lot, maybe too much? But I don’t think she means to upset you.” He sets his brush down at his side and ruffles Harry’s hair to give it some more volume. “I don’t have that problem with my mum, but then again, you and I...we’re very different people.”

Harry swallows. “I know she cares, but Lou, when is she going to let me live my life? I’m almost twenty four years old and my mum is still checking in on me like I’m sort of child.”

“You know the answer to that Harry.”

“No. I don’t.” Harry whispers and with ease, turns himself around so he’s facing Louis. “Explain it to me.”

Louis meets his eyes. “I don’t know your mum Harry.”

“But you have some sort of idea.” He reaches out to touch Louis’ cheek. “You’re brilliant and you have some sort of opinion on everything, please tell me what your take on all of this is.”

“I’m not brilliant.” Louis argues, quietly as he rubs his face against Harry’s palm. His scruff scratches at Harry’s skin. “Your mum is just worried about you. She doesn’t mean any harm by anything she says or does. Someone has to worry about you and if she doesn’t, I guess she thinks no one will.”

Harry slides his hand off of Louis’ cheek and leans in closer to the older brunet. “You do though. You care about me, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Louis’ eyes scan Harry’s bright green ones for indication of what exactly he’s doing, but there isn’t as much as a hint of one pure emotion, rather a jumble of multiple emotions, all of which Louis can’t differentiate.  

“How much do you care about me?” His breath fans over Louis’ lips, warm and welcoming, like his lips are inviting him to come closer and have a makeout session.

“I care about you more than you even know. You mean the world to me, even if we’re not exclusive, you’re still the most delicate and intriguing and beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

Harry moves his face in closer and closer until their noses brush against one another and presses his forehead to Louis’. “I think I’m ready to move further into a relationship.” He admits.

“Yeah?” Louis breathes.

“Yeah.” Slowly, Harry touches his lips to Louis’ and it takes a moment for the kiss to evolve. Harry’s hesitant and Louis doesn’t pressure him to move any faster than he wants to. If this is going to work then they need to rely on each other for patience and loyalty.

Harry braces himself on Louis’ upper arms and the awkward lip pressing turns into something more passionate and involved, more fiery, but cool, and hard, but soft. It lasts for what feels like forever, but Louis figures it’s only a matter of seconds, a minute maybe, before Harry withdraws and stares at him with expectant eyes.

Even despite the paralysis of some of Harry’s facial muscles, he isn’t a bad kisser at all. Maybe the action part of it isn’t as good as Louis’ use to it being, but Harry carries a particular sense of comfort and importance around and that is more than enough to have successful series of kisses.

Harry’s fingers ghost over his lips and a smile grows behind those very nervous fingertips. “So. Um.” He clears his throat. “How do we...you know, do this?”

Louis keeps his eyes locked on Harry’s. “You’re not supposed to have a set plan. Sort of like what just happened wasn’t planned, that’s how a relationship should be. Spontaneous. I’d say we’re doing pretty well so far.”

“But. Like do we have to put a label on it? I get it if you don’t want to.”

“We’re just going to keep it plain and simple. If you want to tell people we’re dating, that’s fine. If you want to say I’m your boyfriend, even better. It’s whatever you want to call it.”

“What about the media and your fans? What will you tell them?” Harry asks, creasing his eyebrows together, and gives Louis a once-over as if he’ll be able to detect any lies behind his facade.

“I'll tell them that I’m dating Harry Styles and he is the most beautiful, personable, interesting person I know. I’m not worried about what anyone has to say. You’re my main priority, no matter what happens, and I couldn’t be happier. You’re one of a kind.”

There’s a blush that crosses over Harry’s cheeks and he drops his head to look down at his lap. Louis doesn’t say anything at first, instead purely enjoys the sight of Harry being so soft, which has been a rarity in the few weeks he’s known him.

“How about we get off this cold floor now, yeah?”

Harry respects that most about Louis. He’s quick to switch subjects. Slow to dwell on the quirks of conversation. It makes for a more comfortable setting. “Sure. Your couch sounds like a proper place to relax all day.”

 

 

 

 

Louis is leading Harry to his apartment that night when he pauses in his tracks with what he sees. Harry’s door is unlocked and slightly ajar. “Your front door is open.” He points out as if Harry didn’t already know.

As it turns out, Harry didn’t notice, but with this new found information, he whips his head to give his door inspection. “I thought I saw her car.”

“Thought you saw who’s car? Should we get your landlord? Or the police?” Louis asks, words rushing out in a flow of worry.

Harry sighs at him and fights the urge to roll his eyes. Louis only means well, but his concern can be a bit overwhelming due to Harry’s lack of experience with it. “My mum’s here. I thought I saw her car outside, but I wasn’t sure. You should probably go.”

“Why should I leave? I thought we were going to work on your painting some more, isn’t that what we decided?” Louis presses, confused by Harry’s sudden shift in emotion. He was all laughs and jokes moments earlier, now there’s an odd tension and exertion in the air. It must be his mum’s presence that has him acting unarguably odd.

“Louis.” Harry scolds, through clenched teeth, and a grimace. “We can get together some other time. Just, not right now, okay? I don’t want to deal with introducing you to my mum.”

But it’s too late. Louis moves ahead of him and pulls open the door. He allows Harry to step inside first, only after persuading him with puckered lips and a smirk, and shuts the door behind himself after they’re both inside.

Harry’s mum rises from the couch as soon as they come into her line of sight and she beelines for Harry. “Where were you? I thought you were supposed to be home this morning. I was worried sick.” She kisses his forehead and Harry does everything in his power to keep himself from making some witty comment.

“I didn’t know you were stopping by today.” He attempts to sound happily surprised, but it’s hard considering he’s neither happy nor surprised.

Anne smiles weakly at him. “I wanted to pop in and say hello because I thought you were supposed to be home earlier, at least that’s what Gemma said.”

“I got caught up at Louis’, but I’m fine, see? I’m not anymore crippled than usual.” A forced smile crosses his lips and he appears to be quite proud of himself whereas Anne’s face contorts into a look of almost hurt and disgust.

“That’s not funny, Harry.”

Harry shrugs at her. “I thought it was.” He leaves Louis standing near the door as he crutches past Anne, quite literally almost pushing her out of the way, and takes a seat on one of the sofas.

The tension in the room makes things very uncomfortable for Louis to be stood in. As soon as the first flash of disappointment crosses Anne’s face, Louis moves forward to introduce himself. “Anne, right?” He offers her his hand. “I’m Louis. Harry’s boyfriend.”

And wow, it feels amazing to finally be able to say that. It feels like he's waited a lifetime to say those words, even though it's only been a matter of weeks. 

She takes her hand in his, squeezes tightly, right before she tugs him into a welcoming embrace. The gesture takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t fight her hold, rather hugs her back tightly.

They separate and that’s when Louis finally gets a good look at this woman, the one Harry calls his mother. She’s gorgeous, first of all, dark hair, an olive complexion, and grey eyes, and second of all, Harry looks just like her, minus the complexion and grey eyes, but similar facial structure is all there.

“It is so relieving to meet you. My daughter told me all about you. I’ve been anticipating this for a while now.” She’s all bright eyes and smiles. Her eyes scan Louis, studying his character for a brief second, first impressions are everything. “You are so handsome.”

A groan leaves Harry’s mouth. He’s on his phone at this point and doesn’t glance up to overlook the conversation between Anne and Louis, not once. It gets under Louis’ skin, a little bit, because there is a major lack of respect for his mother and Louis has never quite done well with disrespect towards women, whoever they may be.

The only good thing his father taught him was respect, albeit through his absence and typical low-life actions, he still learned that to get anywhere in life you have to obtain respect for women, all women, elders, younger girls, religious girls, non-religious girls, girls of different ethnicities, all girls.

“Thank you.” Louis sends a glare in Harry’s direction, but he doesn’t respond, not with a look, noise, or word. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you as well.”

“I’m sure you have.” Anne concludes and also turns her head to look at Harry. She clears her throat for his attention, but he doesn’t give in. “You’ll have to excuse him. He doesn’t like when I come ‘round to visit, but that’s okay, I’m just grateful that I get to meet his boyfriend. How are you?”

Harry finally looks up after she speaks. “You don’t need to speak for me, mother, I can speak for myself. Thanks.”

Louis looks between Harry and Anne and draws in a sharp breath. This is increasingly awkward and he doesn’t deal well with awkward situations like these, especially with ones between mother and son. “I’m doing alright.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Anne forces a laugh and she directs her attention to Harry. “You know I noticed that you still haven’t had railings put in the bathroom. I told you insurance would cover it entirely.”

Harry scoff. “Do you mind not discussing that while Louis’ here? Do you have any respect for me?”

“Of course I have respect for you, but I can’t seem to get your attention any other way. So when will you get those railings put in?” Anne asks, raising her eyebrows as she waits for Harry to conjure up some fake answer.

“I don’t need railings in my bathroom. I’ve been fine for two years. I sure as hell don’t need them now.” Harry argues. He shuts his phone off and slams it down on the couch cushion beside him.

Anne leans against the arm of the couch, arms crossed over her chest, “I can’t have you falling in the bathroom again. If I have to call the insurance company and set you up for an appointment then I will. It’s time to take some responsibility Harry.”

“I am responsible and that was one time mum. One time. Not every day, not every week, literally one time and I’m perfectly fine. I don’t need you involving yourself with my insurance company, I’ve got it under control. Stop talking.”

Louis speaks after that. “Harry it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“I do. I don’t want this relationship to be built on my disability, which it has been this far, and with my mum, being ridiculous and continuing to talk about it, that’s all this is.” Harry argues and glowers towards his mum. “So can you fucking stop?” He’s never sworn at her before, not like this, but Anne doesn’t even look surprised. “Louis doesn’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to hear it. Do you ever get tired of trying to make things about you? Christ.”

“I’m your mother Harry. You need to have some respect for me.” Anne scolds. “I don’t make anything about myself. I’m trying to make things easier for you.”

“Things are easy enough! I don’t need things to be easier, I need for things to be different!”” Harry shouts. “Fucking hell. I can’t be in here anymore. I’m going to go lay down.”

And Louis supposes the exit is supposed to be dramatic, but it really isn’t, not with Harry taking his time to grab his crutches and stumbling a total of three times before he actually reaches his bedroom.

“I am so sorry about that. Hopefully you aren’t uncomfortable.” Anne apologizes. “He’s just upset with me and when he’s upset with me he acts like that until I leave.”

“I understand. I think he gets overwhelmed sometimes and he doesn’t know how to properly handle it. He started yelling at me last night after I helped him get his shoes off.” Louis explains, leaning against one of the chairs.

Anne sighs. “He’s been like that since he’s been a teenager. Always moody and angry. I tried my hardest to treat him normal, but it’s hard when he’s confined to either his crutches or his chair, and he does require special care sometimes, but he hates it. It doesn’t matter how many usual tendencies I treat him with, he only finds something negative.”

Louis notices that, too. He’s called Harry out on it, but then received the silent treatment in return for his comment, all he wants to do is fix that. He doesn’t want to fix Harry because Harry doesn’t need fixing, but he wants to push negativity and anger out of Harry’s life and replace it with constant reassurance and love.

“It’s a coping mechanism, I think,” Louis says to her. “I know I haven’t known him for very long, but to me it seems like he gets angry so people won’t focus on him. I don’t think he knows quite how to react to being different. Usually, he’s okay with me, but everything I do is questionable, like he doesn’t trust me.”

Anne listens to him and nods thoughtfully. “You may be right. I think I need to sit down with him and have a civil conversation, one of these days, when he doesn’t hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Louis promises. “He’s frustrated and our relationship frustrates him even further. He doesn’t understand why I'm staying while he continues to open up more. He had some really bad spasms this morning and I think he thought I was going to kick him out or something, I don’t know.”

Anne shuts her eyes and shakes her head. “How bad were they?”

“It wasn’t...well, his legs were contracting which was causing him to shake really severely and he couldn’t really talk clearly.” Louis explains. “Is it a bad sign?”

“No, no, he’s fine, but it’s scary to hear about it. I'm sorry you had to see him like that. When he was younger, he was like that almost all the time and it still peeks through from time to time.”

Louis creases his eyebrows together. “What? You mean like he shook like that all the time?”

Anne nods. “Mhm, but eventually we found a medicine that worked for him. I don’t know if he told you about his pump, but that’s how he gets it now.”

“I know about the pump, yeah.” Louis manages to say, though his voice holds no vigor. “I just...the entire situation is confusing.”

He didn’t realize how severe it must have been for Harry when he was younger and to think that he was still a school student breaks Louis’ heart. He went to school shaking like that and he probably was made fun of, god, Louis feels awful for him.

“He has symptoms of almost each form of cerebral palsy which makes it mixed. He has the spastic diplegia, which is the reason his legs are the way they are and then his speech is the effect of another form and the shaking and jerky movements are another.”

It makes it a bit easier to understand, but Louis can’t wrap his head around the fact that Harry deals with all of that on a daily basis. “Okay. That makes a lot more sense.” He says and glances down the hallway Harry disappeared moments earlier. “I should let the two of you make amends. Will you tell him that I’ll stop by during the week?”

“Of course.” She hugs him one more time before he walks out. “Thank you for being so wonderful and understanding. I’m happy Harry met you.” She whispers and kisses the side of his head.

“You’re welcome.” They separate and Louis slips out of Harry’s apartment. That was an interesting timeline of events, but Louis’ glad he chose to leave before Anne went to talk to him.

Maybe their relationship is still in the works and maybe things are still trying to work themselves out, but with time and patience, they’ll figure it out. They have to. Louis won’t leave Harry, not with all the information he keeps acquiring, it only makes him love him more.

 

 

 

 

Louis’ standing on stage, watching the boys run around the stadium, when Paul comes up behind him. He clears his throat and Louis turns to look at him. “What?” He blurts out before he sees Gemma, who’s stood beside Paul.

His heart slams into his throat and he tells Paul that he can leave the two of them together before he approaches her. “Is something wrong? Is Harry okay?” He asks, immediately flipping to the worst case scenario, but Gemma puts her hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“Easy. Harry’s fine, but I did want to talk to you about something. Should we stay here or is there somewhere more private we can talk?” Her lips are pursed together and her eyebrows are raised, expectantly.

“Uh. Yeah. Follow me.” He say, leads her backstage, and back to his dressing room. He shuts the door behind the two of them and walks to sit at one of the sofas. “You can have a seat too if you’d like.”

“Okay. Sure.” Her heels click against the floor as she makes her way to sit beside Louis. Settling on the cushion beside him, she weakly smiles. "How are you doing?"

“What's going on? Are you going to tell me I can’t see Harry or something?” Louis asks, sighing heavily.

“No, no, of course not.” Gemma breathes out a laugh. “Oh god no. My mum and I love you. I just...I want you to know that the two of us, we’re concerned.” Her voice loses its previous assurance and she sounds serious, extremely serious.

“Concerned about us? Our relationship? Gemma, I care about him a lot, if you’re worried that I’m going to like break his heart, then you should think it over again.” Louis shifts in his seat. He’s a bit flustered now, maybe even a bit angry because how could anyone make assumptions like that and right away too.

“It’s not that. You’re honestly such a nice guy and you’ve been amazing to Harry, actually amazing, and I wouldn’t want him with anyone else.” Gemma says.

Louis shakes his head, not quite understanding. “Then why are we having this conversation?”

“Your fame is the issue Louis.” Gemma tells him, bluntly. “Harry doesn’t like attention and you get a lot of it. I just don’t want him to have to deal with something he loathes on a daily basis. The speculation article in The Sun already caused enough issues.”

“He didn’t seem bothered when I talked to him about.” Louis argues.

Gemma hesitates. “Just because he doesn’t seem like it, doesn’t mean he isn’t. It’s some sort of logic he’s based himself on. If he doesn’t show it, it isn’t there, or at least it doesn’t register with him as clearly.”

Louis sighs. He should have figured Harry was going to take it to heart, but Harry sounded fine on the phone when they talked about it last week and he never brought up again. He was wrong to assume it was done and over with.

“What is it you want me to do?” Louis asks, seriously. “Should we stay away from a relationship?”

“I’m not...no, I won’t tell you what to do.” Gemma runs her hand through her hair. “I hate to preoccupy myself with Harry’s life, but I worry about him. He’s a strong person, but I am so afraid that he’s going to break one of these days and I just want you to know my concerns.”

Louis nods at her, listening closely, and says, “He’s going to break eventually. There is so much pent up anger in him. It’s going to come out someday and there is nothing you can do or I can do to stop that.”

“I know.” Gemma says. “I do, but I am so not prepared for that. He just...he’s so different from everyone else, y’know and I don’t know how to help him sometimes and if he breaks down, what will I do to fix it?"

“He’s different, but it’s a good kind of different. He’s one of a kind.” Louis sees the worry and anxiety painted on her face and he leans forward, grabbing her knee and squeezing tightly. “He’ll be okay and I will make sure he is okay. If it gets to be too much for him, then I will figure out how to properly handle it. I’ll give him whatever he needs and if what he needs is to stay out of the media then we’ll make it work. I really want for things to work.”

Gemma smiles, her eyes are teary, but it’s only because of the respect she has for Louis. She’s loved him since she was nineteen and she loves her exceedingly past that now. “I know you will. Thank you.” She whispers and wipes at her eyes with the pads of her thumbs. “I’m sorry I’m such a wreck. It’s just...Harry means the world to me and I don’t want him to get hurt by other people. You know firsthand how cruel people in media can be and I don’t want him to surround himself in that and I don't want things to have an negative impact on you. I don't want people to verbally attack you because of Harry."

“They won't and even if they do, I don't care. I'm going to do whatever makes me happy.” Louis withdraws his hand from her leg and touches her hand as she goes to wipe at her face. “It’s okay. Things will be rough at first, I won't lie to you, but as long as I keep him away from the negativity everything will be okay. I’ve got to talk to him, make sure he understands the extent of my fame.”

“Okay.” Gemma draws in a sharp breath, “Thank you so much for understanding. He’s had his fair share of boyfriends before but he's never been with anyone who’s worldwide famous. This should be interesting.”

Louis smiles. “It will be, but you'll see. Everything will work itself out.” He agrees and as he goes to continue to talk to her, his choreographer pops into the room, interrupting them, while looking rather irritated. 

“Louis, sorry to interrupt your conversation, but we need you back on stage to finish rehearsals.” He says and his eyes scan over Gemma briefly before he ignores her all together.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, I’ll be right out.” He stands up and offers his hand to help Gemma up. She takes it and he pulls her to her feet. “I’m sorry about this being cut so short. I’ll see you around though and if you need anything, feel free to call me okay? Let me see your phone, I’ll give you my number.”

Gemma doesn’t hesitate. She pulls her phone from her pocket and hands it to him, unlocked, and Louis types his number in quickly. Once he's done, he hands it back to her. “Alright, I’ll see you around love.” He slips past her and sulks back out onto the stage, where the boys start to eye him expectantly, as though he's just been told the secret of a lifetime. 

He doesn’t say a word to them or to anybody. He needs time to think all of this through, long and hard. Harry needs reassurance in order to persevere in this sort of relationship and environment and Louis needs to figure how to offer that to him.   



	4. Chapter 4

They’ve been a couple for three months.

Now, that being said, it hasn't been like every other relationship Louis has ever been apart of. Harry's still angry and closed off, which Louis tries to understand, but he can't fathom why he hasn't brought out change in Harry. He thought for sure the one thing Harry needed was someone who showed their care and endearment towards him. Even though he shows him that type of affection constantly, he's positive he hasn't managed to help Harry at all, in fact he feels as though he might be making things worse. 

And Louis being multi-millionaire rockstar puts limits on their relationship, too. The media is all over them. Whenever they go out, cameras are constantly being shoved in their faces, questions are screamed at them, people nearly knock Harry over when they start trampling over each other to get the exclusive. Everyone wants to know what it's like to be one of the first mainstream celebrities to date a member of the disabled community. Louis can't answer because there isn't an appropriate answer, it's the exact same thing as dating someone _normal_ , except he adores Harry more. 

Of course, they’ve had their moments, uncommon moments for people involved in  _practical_ relationships. For example, Harry absolutely latching on to Louis before he has to tour different countries or Louis snooping around Harry’s apartment just a little too often, making sure he has enough food to last him and checking his medication is properly filled, are not things _regular_ couples go through on a routinely basis. 

In the time they’ve been together, Louis has found that Harry has a lot of fears, some rational, while others seem completely ridiculous. Though, he has to remind himself that he and Harry aren’t alike in most aspects, so it isn’t irrational for Harry to be scared of certain aspects of Louis’ luxurious life.

Since Harry’s very much a homebody, news broadcasts and movies obtain a lot of his attention and he believes planes crash on the daily, thus inflicting his major fear of planes. He’s always reminding Louis to be careful and if there’s a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach before climbing aboard a plane, he shouldn’t board. 

Louis doesn’t argue with him. It wouldn’t be worth his time to try to convince Harry otherwise. He's as stubborn as the day is long. 

Due to touring across Europe for the last month or so, he hasn't been able to see Harry as often as he would like to. However, each time there's a lapse between shows he boards the earliest flight and rushes home to see him.

He doesn't have to pace himself anymore. The European leg of the tour finally finished last night, and now he has two weeks before the Asian leg kicks off in Thailand.

It isn't like he doesn't communicate with Harry at all while he's away. He tries to keep close contact, calling him twice a day, once when he wakes up and another time right after the show. Sometimes if it’s convenient and Louis doesn’t have to wake up early the next morning, they'll Skype.

He enjoys talking to Harry daily. They always have something to talk about, whether it be something in the news or a particular group of girls Louis saw in the audience during the concert or a random recipe Harry wants Louis to teach him, there’s always something. 

Louis’ favorite part of Skyping are the times when he can watch exhaustion cross over Harry’s eyes. There's always a struggle that follows, which is Harry trying to keep himself awake. It’s adorable in every way, but even cuter when he actually falls asleep during the call. Then Louis can watch him while he's at peace.

 _It isn’t creepy to watch Harry sleep_ , he tries to convince himself, but he knows differently. He can't help himself. Harry looks soft, a definite contrast to his everyday appearance. There's almost always something contorting his face into pure tension, ranging from pain in his legs and back to his hatred for most things. It does really depend on the day.

Louis decided against telling Harry he was coming home this afternoon. He supposes it adds an element to surprise to his arrival at Harry's flat, and he loves surprising Harry, those are the times he sees him genuinely smile.

He approaches Harry’s apartment and knocks on the door before taking a step back. After waiting a few minutes and hearing no noise coming from the other side of the door, he grows slightly concerned. “Harry? Are you home love? It’s Louis. Open up.”

It’s not unlikely for Harry to have fallen or something along the lines of that and Louis supposes that’s what has him on edge. Harry doesn’t fall on a regular basis, but he’s fallen twice since Louis first met him.

He tries knocking again, calling Harry’s name as he does, “Harry? Come on babe. Are you alright?” When he still doesn’t receive a reply, he digs in his pocket for the key Harry had made for him. He doesn’t like to use it because Harry’s home is not his home and he doesn’t like to intrude, but he can’t leave the situation as it is.

He sticks his key into the hole, clicks the lock, and allows himself access into the small apartment. As soon as he steps inside and shuts the door, he hears the sound of a video playing and angry cries coming from down the hall. Harry's studio, presumably. 

Louis hesitates for a second before quickly walking down the hall to the source of the cries. The door to Harry’s studio is open, inside he sees Harry sitting on the floor, shredding his paintings with his bare hands, and in the background he can hear... _himself?_

Not wasting anymore time, Louis slips into the small art studio, questioning Harry as soon as he comes into his line of sight. “What the f...what are you doing? Harry? Jesus Christ, why are you doing that?” He asks, dropping down to his knees in front of his boyfriend.

It’s dark in the room. The curtains are drawn shut and the only source of light is coming from Harry's phone, sat beside him on the floor. Louis can still hear his voice coming from the small device. 

He tries to meet Harry's eyes, but Harry hasn't acknowledged him once. After multiple failed attempts, he reaches for Harry’s phone instead, inspecting the source of his distress.

The video playing on his phone is one of the recent interview he did with the boys in LA, for some random radio station. Needless to say, Louis doesn’t understand what has Harry upset. Is it because he missed him? Is he lonely? Is it something he said in the interview?

Louis tries to touch him. “Harry, sweetheart." Harry draws away with a sharp cry, not allowing Louis to come any closer to him. “What’s wrong? Baby, why are you…” his voice loses it’s vigor when he hears a particular sentence come from the video playing.

_“Harry is nothing more than a cripple and he isn’t good enough for me.”_

His face flushes as soon as the words leave his past self. That wasn't said in context. He remembers exactly what he said and that wasn’t it. He was talking about the negative things people tend to say on social media about Harry.

_“Of course, we’re going to feel bad. Who wouldn’t? It’s a huge change for fans and a lot of them aren’t going to like us anymore, which I guess is understandable considering, you know...”_

That wasn’t in context either. They were discussing the hiatus following this tour. They want to take a break from everything before making new music and creating an improved tour. They want to appeal to a new demographic. None of that had to do with Harry, at all.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, shutting the phone off and setting it back down. “Harry...I didn’t, no, I didn’t say any of that. I love you so much. I would never say anything like that, not about you. I know I’m outspoken, but I have never said anything bad about you.”

Harry’s hands tremble, carelessly ripping each of his paintings, one by one, until his studio is littered with not only remnants of his masterpieces, but his despondency. "You don't love me." he accuses, tugging on the roots of his hair. "You never loved me. You pity me! And to make it worse, you told everyone that you pity me! You promised you would never..." his voice fades as soon as his cries intensify.

Harry’s never cried in front of Louis, not like this. Sure, he cried that one time he fell in the bedroom, but he’s never cried because of something Louis has done to him or said to him. Louis feels like an absolute shithead because of it, even despite the words he spoke not being intentional.

Louis can't manage to say anything. His eyes wander, gazing over each item that once made Harry happy, and he shakes his head. Harry spent years building the ambiance of his studio and it's been destroyed in mere minutes, thanks to him. "Harry I...no, that isn't true. Whatever you think you heard, I swear to god isn't true. I care about you more than - "

"Get out!" Harry screams, pointing to the door. His chest heaves with sobs. "You said it doesn't matter that I can't walk. You said I'm the most incredible person you've ever laid eyes on. Why did you lie to me?"

"You are." Louis leans forward, cupping his chin. "I would never go behind your back. You're the most important person in my life."

Harry shoves Louis’ hand off of him. “Don’t you fucking dare! I heard you, I fucking heard you, you liar. You lied to me. I thought...I really thought that,” he makes a noise of anguish, pulling at his hair.

“You really thought what?” Louis tries not to act hurt. He isn’t hurt for his own sake, he’s hurt for Harry’s sake. He’s never seen someone so intensely upset, not since his mum divorced his first step-dad, but even then it wasn’t something inflicted by himself. “Harry please, they edited the interview. I didn’t say anything bad about you.”

“I thought we could be happy together Louis,” Harry whispers, voice still thick with emotion, “I really did think that I found someone special. My fucking mistake, as always. You’re just like everyone else, a big let down, a big disappointment. We’re done. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Louis swallows. “You don’t want to…” he starts to say, trying to comprehend what Harry has just told him. “Did you just break up with me?”

He’s just gotten home from touring Europe. He was expecting something nice like lunch or a drive around London. Anything, except a breakup. His boyfriend of three months just broke up with him. This is not what he imagined.

“Please, just go home Louis. There isn’t anything else to be said here.” Harry takes a look around his studio, sighing heavily. He’s ruined everything he’s ever created in a matter of minutes over some guy who was never even worth it.

“Harry, I didn’t...you’re going to regret this, okay? Like a few days from now you’re going to realize how fucking wrong you are and I won’t be there to help you pick up the pieces. You’re being absolutely ridiculous. Think this through. Have I ever talked shit about you?” He asks, but Harry doesn’t respond. “Fine. Just know, as soon as I leave, I’m not ever coming back.” He doesn’t mean it. He just wants Harry to realize that he’s in the wrong so they can discuss this without swear words and shouting.

“This was a bad idea.” Harry breathes, shaking his head. “I really fucking liked you. Why did you have to go behind my back?”

Louis groans in frustration. Harry doesn’t understand, he’s tried explaining that the video was edited to make him sound like an untrustworthy boyfriend, but Harry doesn’t believe him. Why doesn’t Harry trust him? Why doesn’t he believe his boyfriend of three months over some random radio station?

Louis' irritated now. “Jesus Christ Harry! Why don’t you trust me? You’ve never given me the time of day. That's what your problem is. I tried explaining to you, but you won’t give me the benefit of the doubt. Some boyfriend you are. Maybe it’s a good thing you broke up with me. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me.” He stands up, leaving Harry speechless and staring at him in awe.

“Louis…”

“No!” he shouts, pointing a finger at Harry. “You had your chance. You always make me out to be the bad guy! I’ve done everything in my being to help you these last three months and I’ve fucking had it! You’re so unappreciative. I’ve never met someone who is so bitter to the core. Maybe you ought not lie to your mother and go back to getting some professional help. I can’t take this anymore. Maybe this is for the best.”

Harry blankly stares at him, blinking as if trying to think of something logical to say, but again, Louis’ rendered him speechless. “I, um...that’s not…”

“See! You can’t argue with me because you know it’s true. You are such a sad person and I’ve tried so hard to help you, but you can’t change someone who isn’t willing to change. It’s as simple as that Harry. Even despite the way I feel about you sometimes, I have never, ever spoken a bad word about you. I care about you and I will always care about you, but this relationship can’t be one-sided love. I need something from you and I know you’ve already said it, but you’re right, we’re over.” He starts towards the door and as soon as he reaches the doorway, he turns to meet Harry’s eyes for a last time. “Take care of yourself Harry.”

And Harry’s swollen eyes and quivering lips are the last thing he sees before he walks out of his life.

 

 

 

 

It’s been two weeks since their break-up and Louis feels awful. He can hardly sleep, let alone bring himself to keep up with the pace of the band.

Tonight’s the first performance since the incident. He’s hoping being on stage will make him feel normal, as normal as performing in front of tens of thousands of people can possibly be. Thailand’s lovely and all, but he’d much rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere he wouldn’t have to struggle with the language and remembering what’s appropriate or inappropriate in their culture.

He bets Harry knows some tidbits about the Thai culture. He knows something about everything, surely a Thai related fact wouldn’t be too hard for him to come up with. After all, Harry is the smartest person he knows, and god, does he miss him. 

He hasn’t let their argument nor their break-up slip from his hands, yet. He’s tried calling Harry multiple times for a few days now, figuring he’s allowed a long enough recovery period to pass.

The boys tell him to let it go, let Harry be the one to ring him, but he knows that will never happen. They’ll never speak again if he doesn’t take the initiative. It’s just not in Harry’s character to make the first move, which Louis can understand considering all the turmoil and disappointment he’s gone through in his lifetime. Each time he’s ever tried to take responsibility, he’s instantly been shut down.

The show starts in a few hours. He has some time to kill, so he decides to ring Gemma this time around. Maybe she can help him get through to Harry.

Though, as he searches for her contact and begins to press the call button, he hesitates. Will she even bother picking up for him? After all, he did hurt her brother’s feelings and broke up with him in the span of less than ten minutes.

He definitely overreacted. Maybe if he calmed Harry down first and then spoke to him in a calmer manner, explaining to him the situation at hand, then things wouldn’t have turned out this way. He doesn’t blame himself entirely, Harry did come at him first, but he still could have said something to help him relax. understanding how emotional Harry is, he was bound to react that way. There must have been something more Louis could have done. 

Louis decides the call Gemma despite the possible repercussions. He leans against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest as he holds his phone to his ear. The phone rings once, twice, three, four times before a girl with a thick northern accent speaks, "Hello?"  
  
"Hey...um, this _is_ Gemma right?" he asks, though he already knows it's her. "I...well, you probably know how Harry and I had that falling out, right?  Well um -"  
  
She cuts him off mid-sentence with a sigh, "Look, you know I love you Louis, but I really don't feel like talking about this right now. I’ll call you and we can discuss it later. I just don’t think it’s a very good idea to talk about it right this second. So, is that all you wanted to discuss? Can I go?"  
  
Louis' eyebrows furrow together. She sounds tired and slightly aggravated. Was it something he said? Has he struck a nerve?  "Is he angry with me? I've been trying to call him for a few days and he hasn't picked up. I know it was our first fight and I guess we broke up but -"  
  
"Wait, wait, hold on," The sound of chair legs screeching against tile fills his ears followed by thudding footsteps and a slam of a door. "My mum hasn't called you yet, has she? Oh god, I wasn’t supposed to be the one to tell you about it."  
  
"Come again. Call me about what?" Louis pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Please don't tell me that she's kicking me out of his life or something like that. I understand I hurt his feelings and said some things I shouldn’t have, but it isn’t anything we can’t work out.”  
  
Gemma hesitates on the line. "You're in Thailand, yeah? The reception has to be bad there. Her call must not have come through." she mutters to herself, forcing herself to draw in a deep breath. "Okay, look, I need you stay calm. Don't panic when I tell you, but Harry had a little accident and -"  
  
Louis doesn't take her ode to stay calm to heart. His spirit sinks, eyes screwing shut, hand clenching around the phone. "What do you mean he had a _little_ accident? What is that supposed to mean? Come on Gemma, what the fuck is going on?"  
  
"Louis..." Gemma whispers. "He fell down the stairs in front of the apartment complex yesterday and they rushed him to the hospital." her voice breaks, becoming softer. "They didn’t call me until this morning, so I’m here with him now."  
  
Louis can feel the hammer smash his heart into a bunch of tiny crystallized pieces. "You mean he...fuck," his breath catches in his throat. "Is he okay? Did he hurt himself?"  
  
Gemma doesn't reply. Louis grows more anxious. Falling down the stairs can lead to a lot of things and considering Harry’s already disabled, it can’t possibly be a good mix.

"Gemma, come on, don't fuck with me, is he alright?" Louis snaps. At this point, he's already stomping down the hall, past his managers, past the boys, past the security that shout orders at him.  
  
He could cut the tension in Gemma's voice with a knife. "They're sending him down for an MRI in a little bit. They’re certain he’s got a concussion, he’s showing symptoms you know, vomiting and whatnot. So, they just want to make sure it isn't anything more serious. He’s bruised and he broke his arm, but they're saying it isn't anything remarkably serious."  
  
_It isn’t anything remarkably serious._ That’s great of course, but Harry’s disabled and any injury like that could be detrimental to his well being. "That's not too bad. I mean it's not good, but it's not...he'll be okay, right? But what is he going to do? He can't take care of himself with a broken arm." Louis says, knowingly.    
  
"My mum and I are still discussing it. It's the last thing he wants, but he's probably going to move back in with her until he's fully recovered. I would offer to, but I can't meet everything he needs, and I don't think my roommates would be too thrilled with me."  
  
Louis sighs to himself. Harry is not going to like that one bit. He never wanted to move back in with his mum. "Fuck. Alright, well, I'm on my way back to England. I’ll board the earliest flight, I should be there by early morning, so make sure you text me the hospital address."  
  
"Alright -" she starts to say, but catches herself. "Wait, no, no, aren't you in Asia? You’re in Thailand. You have a concert."  
  
"Yeah, I _had_ a concert. This is far more important. Like I said, I'll be there by morning. Don't tell Harry I'm coming. I don’t want to overwhelm him." he says, finding his way to where Paul's stood with the backstage crew. "See you tomorrow love.”

“Uh. Yeah. Talk to you soon.” Gemma mutters, still confused as she hangs up.

It isn’t easy to get out of the concert by any means, but Louis informs Paul that he will be leaving the country with or without his permission. This is far more important than any show.

Harry hurt himself. He’s obligated to go make things right between the two of them. 

So, Paul has no choice but to let him go and have Liam, Zayn, and Niall perform on their own. They’ll have to apologize on Louis’ behalf, though Louis doesn’t feel as though something as urgent as this requires an apology.

 

 

 

  
"I don't know how he manages to get himself into situations like this." Gemma says, keeping an even pace with Louis. She picked him up at the airport early this morning and the hospital is their first visit. Yes, Louis is deathly jetlagged and he would love to sleep, but this is far more important. "You know? And it's not like the first time something like this has happened. It's just - I don't like getting phone calls like that. I make his medical decisions since he doesn't want mum to, but sometimes I regret signing that contract. I just feel so bad for him, he was trying to do something good for himself. He told me he was going for a job interview and when he was leaving the flat, his legs gave out and he blacked out, so at least he wasn't in pain.  
  
Louis nods, listening to her rant in his own guilt-driven silence. Finally, after she finishes, he says, "I wish we hadn’t argued. He probably hates me now and he won't want to see me and -"  
  
"Are you kidding?" Gemma stops him from moving any further, curling her perfectly painted nails around his forearm. "He loves you. You're probably the only person he wants to see right now. He's been asking for you since he woke up. Of course, I had to tell him you were halfway across the world and yeah, he was upset, but he is going to be thrilled to see you."  
  
Louis meets her eyes. "You really think so?"  
  
"I know so." she lets go of his arm. "The thing about Harry is...he's always been embarrassed by his disability and every time some shit like this happens, he focuses on it for a long time. He likes to use it again himself. You know how he is, he doesn't have a whole lot of confidence in himself and this is a setback for him, but having you around is going to make him so happy. Now come on." she pats him on the back before leading him down the hall.  
  
Harry’s room is at the end of the corridor. Once Louis comes into close enough distance, he can hear Harry shouting at a nurse. His voice is deep, a lot of aggression hides itself in the underlying tone, and Louis finds himself hesitating behind Gemma. It's awfully scary.  
  
"He's still kinda foggy up here," Gemma points to her head, "and he doesn't feel very well, so he's been a proper jackass these last two days. Don't take anything he says to heart, he's just frustrated. He kicked me out of the room yesterday and threatened to call security. Can you believe that? My own brother."  
  
Harry stops shouting suddenly and the nurse flees the room. She stops when she sees Gemma, "Good luck to you and your friend. He's in one of his moods today."  
  
"So I heard." Gemma replies. "I'm sorry Janet, hopefully he wasn't too awful to you today."  
  
Janet laughs, though there's a hint of discomfort in her tone. "He's been far worse love. This is only round one. Anyway, I'll be back in an hour or so to check on him." she calls over her shoulder, scurrying away.  
  
Gemma turns to Louis. "I'm going to go in first. I'll say good morning to him and whatnot and then you can come in to rescue me when he starts yelling." she winks at him. She doesn't seem too bothered entering the compact hospital room, then again she's use to his hospital antics.  
  
There's some raised voices, but not exactly yelling. Louis doesn't catch everything that's said, but he can tell that Harry's upset. He decides then that he should make his grand entrance.  
  
Seemingly, as soon as he walks into the room, Harry stops yelling, his facial expression loses all tension, and his head tilts. "Lou..." he mutters, pushing himself to sit up with his one good arm. His other arm is in a sling tucked against his chest.  
  
"Hey babes," Louis smiles, nearing closer to the bed. He takes in the chair seat beside the bed and reaches over the railing to take his hand in his. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Aren't you..." Aside from slurring a bit more than usual, he's struggling to form his words. _It has to do with the concussion_ , Louis realizes, _he isn't thinking straight_. "You're supposed to be in...um...Thailand."  
  
Louis shakes his head, softly saying, "I'm supposed to be here, with you. How are you? I heard about your fall and I got here as soon as I could. Are you alright?"  
  
Harry stares at him for quite a while, reaching out to touch his face, “My head really hurts.”

“I know baby.” Louis takes Harry’s hand and slides it off of his cheek, intertwining their fingers. Harry’s a bit uncoordinated, more uncoordinated than usual, with his hand movements. Since Harry hasn’t mentioned their argument and he’s practically become sweeter than icing since Louis stepped in the room, Louis isn’t going to pay attention to their predicament either. “Do you know when you’re getting discharged?”

He eyes Gemma, waiting for her to speak on Harry’s behalf, because Harry probably doesn’t know much of anything right now, let alone the days of the week and their purpose.

“They’re thinking as long as everything with the MRI shows up okay and he’s isn’t showing any lapses in ability that he should be home by Friday.” Gemma answers. She seems to always have a clue about Harry’s location and well being. 

Friday is two days from today. A four day hospital stay probably wouldn’t be necessary for a normal fall, in fact it seems a bit extensive, but then again, Harry isn’t normal and the circumstances in which he did fall weren’t normal. Louis supposes it isn’t surprising he needs extra care and attention, though he still struggles with fully grasping Harry’s needs.

“You know, Louis, since you’re here...maybe now would be a good time to discuss the living situation.” Gemma proposes, pursing her lips together and fixing her posture. Of course, this can’t just be a simple hospital visit, it has to be far more complex, and by complex, Louis means drastic. Drastic because Harry’s going to have a proper fit when he finds out he’s going to be back with his mum for a few weeks...unless, no, that could never work.

Harry’s body sinks with a sigh. “Hm? What situation?”

Gemma meets Louis’ eyes, presumably hoping he’ll be the one to inform Harry. _No_ , Louis internally refuses, eyebrows furrowing as he shakes his head, _he’s not my brother._ He squeezes Harry’s hand a little tighter.

“What situation? Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Harry asks, slowly losing his patience. This frustration can’t possibly be worse than waking up in a hospital with a foggy memory and needles prodding his arms. 

Unfortunately, no matter how terrible times get, they have room to grow substantially worse.

Gemma draws in a sharp breath. “Um. Well H, you know how you fell and broke your arm?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” Harry deadpans, eyes narrowed and lips drawn into a tight frown before he quickly adds, “Of course I fucking remember! How could I forget? Now what is this situation the two of you keep running circles around?”

There he is. This is the Harry Louis knows so well. Not soft spoken, gentle, aching Harry, but outspoken, angry, negative Harry. However, he has to say it does make the tension in the room a little less intimidating. At least he’s used to this Harry.

Sometimes he wishes he had a deeper understanding of Harry. He’s hardly gotten anywhere with him these past three months, just a lot of the same repetitive “You don’t know how it is. I hate myself, you should hate me too” which is rather aggravating on it’s own narcissistic spectrum.

Gemma decides to say it all at once. She can’t take much more of Harry’s bad attitude and quite frankly neither can Louis. “You’re moving back in with mum after the hospital discharges you.”

Louis watches Harry’s face flush and feels his hand clench around his own fingers. He briefly wonders if Harry’s blood is actually boiling and whether his head is going to actually explode or rather a headache be the outcome. “What?” he hisses.

There has to be something _reasonable_ Louis can do to fix this.

“You can’t take care of yourself with a broken arm.” Gemma replies, keeping a stern look on her face. She isn’t going to let Harry intimidate her.

Harry huffs, as if that’s the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard. Louis’ sure it’s not, but in the moment, it is. “Yes I can.”

“It’s going to take that arm six to eight weeks to completely heal, maybe longer considering how freaking weak your bones are! Harry you’re going to have to use your chair. How are you going to function?” she snaps, staring at Harry with demanding eyes. Despite the strength in her tone and eyes, her body language tells a different tale. Her lips quiver as her shoulders sag in attempt to make herself appear smaller.

“I’d rather die than live back at home.” he snarls, not showing a hint of remorse when the look of mixed disgust and disbelief crosses Gemma’s face and passes off to show on Louis’.

Gemma runs a shaky hand through her hair. “Don’t...what the hell is wrong with you, huh? Why would you say something like that?”

“I’m nearly twenty four years old!” Harry shouts at her, eyes widening with each loud, booming word that explodes past his lips. “I don’t need my mum taking care of me! I don’t need anyone taking care of me. I’m fine. Why can’t anyone accept that?”

“You’re not fine!” Gemma raises her voice, though it does break halfway through. “Look at yourself. You fell down stairs, you’ve got a broken arm and a concussion, how is that fine? Please, explain to me how any of this is fine.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, for a while. Such a period of time passes that Louis begins to wonder if he’s stayed past his welcome. He’s watching Harry, Harry who keeps his head turned, Harry who won’t meet anyone’s eyes, Harry who’s locked every single muscle in his face, when he finally decides something needs to be said.

“What if he stays with me?”

The rate at which Harry whips his head around has Louis wondering how he hasn’t snapped his neck. His eyes are wide, curious, questioning the motive behind what Louis has just offered. After all, the last relationship status they agreed on was ex-boyfriends.

“Louis…” Gemma whispers, trying to hush him. She doesn’t want Harry getting the wrong idea or worse, something falling through and making that option utterly unavailable.

“No, I’m being serious.” Louis presses on, ignoring Gemma’s quiet scolds and silent glares. “He could stay with me. My flats huge and I could get him everything he needs. It’s a perfect idea, everyone’s happy.”

Gemma looks between him and her brother. A look of absolute disbelief has attached itself to her face. “You’re on a world tour. You’re supposed to be in Asia. You can’t just drop everything for Harry, that’s ridiculous. You have fans relying on you.”

“There’s also three other members, they’ll understand,” Louis argues, shifting his focus to primarily Gemma. He adjusts his posture, sitting up straight, showing he means business, “and anyway, at this rate, I’ll only miss Asia and Australia. I’ll be back in time for North and South America.”

Gemma shakes her head. “You haven't even spoken to your superiors.”

“I can get them on the phone right now.” Louis says.

“And if they say no?”

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “I’ll convince them otherwise. This is more important to me than some tour.”

Harry’s eyes follow Gemma and Louis as they discuss the situation at hand. He doesn't say anything, there isn't anything to say. He’s like a child, they’re trying to figure out who gains custody over him. Will it be his overbearing mother or will it be his rockstar ex-boyfriend?

“Some tour?” Gemma repeats, shocked. “Some tour? This isn't just some tour! You’re traveling around the world, performing for millions of people, you make them happy. I know you love Harry, Louis, I know you do, but you have to weigh out your options here.”

“I already have. This is something I want to do.” Louis reminds her, a bundle of emotion has gathered in his throat. He loves Harry, he does, more than anything, he realizes. It’s only been three months and some odd weeks but he loves him.

“I…” Gemma’s voice gets lost in translation as she truly thinks about what Louis is proposing here. He wants her brother to live with him. He wants to take care of Harry. She loves the idea of someone loving Harry for Harry, but their relationship has been so flimsy and shallow, they don't each other well enough, hell, they broke up just two weeks ago, and she doesn’t want to put Harry in a situation where he may, emotionally, get hurt. “Do you understand the responsibility? This isn't some game, you do know that don't you? My mum is fit to take care of him, you’re not.”

She’s forgetting something. In fact, both of them are forgetting the key component to this entire thing. Of course, they’re discussing Harry and his needs, but they haven’t even bothered taking his opinion into consideration.

“This isn’t our life.” Louis glances towards Harry. “It’s Harry’s decision. What do you want to do love?”

Harry hesitates. The room falls completely silent as he weighs out his options. “Um…” he runs his functioning hand through his hair. “I think...Louis. I want to...um, stay with Louis.”

It’s liberating for Louis to hear those words leave Harry’s mouth. It’s liberating to hear Harry speak for himself without having Gemma or Anne or a doctor make his decisions for him.

Harry’s extremely independent. He’s brilliant, charismatic, crafty, talented, but all of that often becomes lost. There’s an opaque veil that hides Harry’s personality, his best qualities, and his walking assists become the center of attention. The spotlight attaches onto them and everyone forgets that beneath the surface Harry is exactly like everyone else.

It’s sad, really. Speaking to Harry, who has such an open-mind, makes Louis himself feel free. He wishes everyone could meet that side of Harry. Because there is more to Harry than pent up anger, there is more to Harry than insecurity, there is more to Harry than argument. It’s all a process, Louis has realized. Deconstructing the wall within Harry is exhausting, but he has to have the patience to do it. Behind that wall is a beautiful, soft-spoken Harry.

It’s the Harry who lays in bed with him and ponders the universe. It’s the Harry who curls onto his lap and places soft kisses against his jaw. It’s the Harry who extracts the breathy whimpers from his mouth when he kisses behind his ear. It’s the Harry who rides on his back and buries his face against his neck with each hearty laugh. That’s the Harry Louis loves.

“Okay.” Louis says, touching Harry’s cheek, “Then I’ll work on getting everything settled, make a few phone calls, all that shit.”

Harry shuts his eyes as soon as Louis’ hand comes into contact with his face. Louis assumes this entire break-up thing won’t last much longer, seeing as though the two of them can’t keep their hands off of each other, and Harry’s still rather limited.

Gemma sighs, though she doesn’t seem upset, if anything she’s most likely happy with Harry’s decision, but she’ll take the brunt of the scolding when she explains to her mum. “I’m going to to make that very wonderful call to mum. I’ll be right back.” she dismisses herself from the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Are you still angry?” Harry asks as soon as Gemma is out of listening distance, not missing a beat.

“I was never angry.” Louis says, drawing his hand away from Harry’s cheek. “Just frustrated.”

“By?”

“You. The tour. The manipulation of that fucking interview.” Louis meets his eyes. “Listen to me for a second. I need you to understand that I have never talked poorly about you, to anyone. I would never say those things about you and I'm sorry I didn't do a better job of explaining that to you.”

“Don’t apologize. I shouldn't have overreacted and yelled at you.” Harry rubs at his forehead. “I fucking ripped apart my studio, and for what? For something you might or might not have said about me?”

Louis listens, latching on to ever distressed word Harry utters. “We can fix it,” Louis says, reaching for his hand. He squeezes. “Sure, maybe some of your portraits are ruined, but we can tape the other ones together and...you can bring your art stuff to my flat. How’s that?”

“It’s great except,” Harry huffs, glancing down at the sling supporting his arm. “I can’t paint with one hand.”

Louis seemed to forget that one small problem, but there has to be something he can do to help. “Minor details,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “I’ll help you.”

“You’ll help me?” Harry repeats after him, sounding utterly surprised. “Do you even know the first thing about art?”

“Well...no,” Louis says, honestly, “but I can learn. You can teach me the basics. I’m willing to learn.”

Harry meets his eyes, silently staring at him with pursed lips as he thinks about the information told to him moments before. “You're really willing to give up your home and your time to help me?”

“Of course, I l…” he realizes what he’s saying and clears his throat. He was not just about to tell Harry he loves him. Nope, not him. He wasn't about to blurt his feelings out. Harry probably doesn’t even feel the same. They were a strange couple, sure, they didn't show as much affection in public and they didn't often have sweet things to tell each other, but surely it's possible there's a mutual feeling of love. “Um. I just want to be there for you.”

Harry doesn't seem to notice Louis’ slip up. He meets his eyes instead, genuinely saying, “I appreciate it more than you know. Thank you.”

Louis doesn't understand Harry’s surprise. Who wouldn't do something like this for him? He’s only known him for a matter of months, yet he's willing to provide him everything he needs. The truth of the matter is if he doesn't help Harry in this moment no one will.

He’s sure down the road if he fades out of Harry’s life, someone else will be there to take care of him and make him feel loved, but right now, he also knows that he’s Harry's lifeline. Whether his function as Harry’s lifeline sticks or not is up to him and the choices he makes in the upcoming weeks.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Louis whispers, brushing Harry’s bangs off of his forehead. “It’s what people who care about each other do. I know that if I needed your help, you would be there for me too.”

Harry swallows. He opens his mouth, starts to say something, something that Louis craves to hear, something that he’ll latch onto, something he’ll take into high consideration, but instead,  Harry shakes his head, muttering, “Nevermind, it’s stupid” under his breath.

Louis wants to tell him that whatever he has to say is extremely important and he shouldn’t be nervous to share his feelings, but part of him understands, Harry tends to be more introverted when it comes to explaining feelings and talking problems out.

So, instead of telling him to continue, he does the next best thing possible which is changing the subject. Harry seemed relieved to have the previous conversation ripped out from underneath them and so Louis continues.

He'll do anything to make Harry more comfortable.

 

 

 

 

 

At first, Harry won’t speak a word to Louis when he’s released from the hospital and into his care. It’s been two days of awkward silence. Harry refuses Louis’ help, especially when he’s in blatant need of it.

Louis supposes he’s embarrassed, embarrassed by the outcome of the situation, embarrassed by his need for assistance, embarrassed by something he won’t speak of. Whatever it is has created strong tension between the two of them. Louis can hardly stand it.

“Harry...” Louis sighs, watching his struggle to stand up from his chair from where he’s stood in the hallway. “Do you want me to help you?” Harry can hardly put any weight on his legs on a normal day, what makes him think that today is going to be the day he can...Louis’ thoughts are cut short as soon as Harry manages to find his balance.

He’s sure if a strong enough draft blew through the room it would knock Harry right over. Harry has his arm, the one that isn’t drawn against his chest, positioned on the side of the couch. He’s shaking with the force he’s pressing down on that hand and his legs.

“Harry.” Louis repeats, more stern this time, stepping closer to him. He’s bent over, staring down at his legs as if the look he’s giving them is going to motivate them to function correctly. One small step with just one of his feet has him stumbling and hardly able to hold himself upright. A small noise of frustration leaves him as he tries to move his other foot.

The distance from where Louis helped him get his wheelchair to where the couch is is nothing more than three feet, but if he can’t do it, then he can’t do it. Why bother judging him if it’s something he’s physically unable to do?

Finally, Louis can’t take his hushed curse words and constricted movements and walks over to stand beside him. Placing a hand on Harry’s back, he says, “Take it easy. I’ll help you. Take your arm off of the couch and wrap it around my shoulders and we’ll get you settled on the couch.”

Harry tries to brush Louis off, physically he can’t. He has the choice to either stand there and let his legs potentially cramp up and give out or finally give in to Louis after ignoring him for two days and allow him to help. Of course, being the stubborn, self-sufficient bastard he always is, Harry still tries to get Louis to leave him alone. “”I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

That’s a lie. He’s bent over, staring down at his shoes with absolutely no motivation or strength left to move. He needs Louis’ help. “You’re sure?” Louis asks. Harry scoffs as if Louis has no business asking him those sort of questions, as if Harry isn’t a guest in his home.  A hint of torment laces itself in Louis’ voice. It seems to be the only thing Harry will respond to. “So, you mean to tell me that if I leave you here and walk into the kitchen, you’re going to be laying on the couch by the time I come back?”

“Yes.” Harry clenches his teeth. “I’m fine. What point don’t you fucking get?”

Louis shrugs, deciding to keep his emotions collected despite the irritation spiking inside of him. “My mistake.” he withdraws his hand from Harry’s back and makes his way towards the kitchen. He hasn’t decided what he’s going to make for lunch just yet. Two options come to mind, perhaps either some deli sandwiches with side garden salads or homemade macaroni and cheese. Both sound amazing in this moment, but he can’t choose one over the other. Maybe he’ll make both. Now, since Harry doesn't need his help, he has all the time in the world.

He’s walking towards the fridge when he hears Harry’s voice, now soft and nervous in tone, call out to him. “Louis? I um...shit.”

“Yes dear?” he asks though it’s obvious. Harry needs his help and finally realizes it. This may be a large step for him, but Louis’ still going to make him ask for it.

“Can you…” Harry hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat. “On second thought, I do need your help, please. Can you help me?”

“Of course babes. I’m coming right now.” And Louis doesn’t wait for anything else to be said or asked of him. That’s all he’s ever wanted from Harry. Asking for help takes a lot out of stubborn person like him. Louis realizes and respects that Harry is gradually gaining the courage to ask him for help.

Because if Louis wasn’t willing to help Harry, he wouldn’t have made his flat available to Harry, he wouldn’t have argued with his label and managers about taking off two legs of tour, he wouldn’t be willing to drop everything and help Harry. Harry’s still learning, and of course, it takes time to go from having no experience with this sort of relationship to taking on the responsibility to retain it. That’s why Louis’ patient.

As soon as he returns to his initial position beside Harry, he wraps his arm around the younger boy’s slimmer torso. “Okay, love, can you lift your arm and hoist it up over my shoulders? I’ve got you, alright? I can support all your weight if you can’t.”

Harry nods. Without a single word, he shakily raises his arm and drapes it around Louis’ shoulders. “There we go,” Louis encourages, tugging Harry a tad closer so he has better control of his lanky love. “Let’s take it nice and slow. Even if we have to take it one step at a time, we’ll get there.”

One step at a time is exactly the pace they take which is understandable. Harry trembles with the stress being applied to his legs, his knees are together, his ankles start to give in to the tension he’s forcing on his body, all until Louis manages to get him sat on the couch.

Louis squats in front of him, wraps his hands around Harry’s thighs, and squeezes. “All right? Do you need anything else?”

Harry glances down at Louis, placing an uneasy hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay. Thank you helping me.”

 _This is a huge step forward_ , Louis thinks. If he assures him that receiving help from people other than his family is okay, then maybe, _maybe_ , he won’t be so hesitant to ask for it. Maybe this is the first step to getting him to open up.

The last three months lead to hardly any improvement from where they initially started. He thought that by chance he knew Harry very well, but looking back at it now he isn’t sure who exactly he was dating.

Now he has a second chance and second chances almost always create a better outcome, or so Louis hopes. He just wants to know who Harry Styles is. What are Harry Styles’ dreams, what are his passions, what does he wish was different, what is he grateful for, what five movies would he bring to a deserted island, does he believe in aliens?

“I really don’t mind it, you know?” Louis informs him. “I know I’ve said it before, but I like to see you happy and if I can make you feel happy then it’s definitely worth it. I’m here for whatever you need these next few weeks, okay?”

Instead of nodding, Harry smiles, actually smiles. His lips quirk up into a grin and his eyes brighten, flicking down to focus on his lap. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

“Wonderful.” Louis stands up. “Now, would you like mac and cheese or toasted ham sandwiches for lunch?”

Harry stares up at the ceiling, weighing out both of his delightful options. “Well since you’re cooking, it’ll be good either way, but let’s go with ham sandwiches.”

“Sure thing gorgeous. I’ll be back before you know it.” he winks at the beautiful doe-eyed boy sitting before him before slipping into the kitchen. Once out of Harry’s sight, Louis cards his hands through his hair, ruffling his fringe into uncouth sections. He’s never met someone who’s managed to make him feel so conflicted.

Being around Harry makes him happy, yet angry, convinced, yet confused, invincible, yet so vulnerable, all at the same time. How does one person do it? Whenever he feels like he’s got a handle on his personality, his emotions, his thoughts, and his triggers, it seems to all jumble together and go to shit.

Three months was more than enough time to get to know someone and he should know Harry like the back of his hand. It can’t be possible for one person to be so complex, yet the young man sitting in his living room is a complete stranger.

 

 

 

 

“What are you looking at?” Louis asks, leaning over the back of the couch. He lays his chin on top of Harry’s head and rests his hands on Harry’s shoulders as he observes the large binder sprawled across his lap.

Harry adjusts the glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He has poor seeing when it comes to reading and viewing text and images up close. “Oh. Um. It’s just my art portfolio...you know stuff I’ve painted and thought was good enough to take pictures of over the years.” he says, nonchalantly, beginning to shut the dark blue binder.

Louis slaps his hand down on one of the pages, halting Harry from taking any further action. “Not so fast. You’re going to take me through this entire portfolio, page by page, painting by painting.”

“I am?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

Louis pats Harry’s cheek. “You are. Look at how quickly you catch on.” he rounds the couch and takes a seat beside him. Harry blankly stares at him until prompted, “I want to start at the very beginning. Page one please.”

Harry hesitates yet again. He’s testing Louis, testing to see how long he can sit here in silence before Louis becomes bored and moves onto something more exciting. It doesn’t seem to be working, only because Louis has finally taken the time to understand this behavior of Harry’s. “Come on Harry. Please? You’ve seen pictures of me when I was a acne-ridden teenager and I just want to see your first paintings. Is that too much to ask?” he rests his head on his shoulder, pouting at him. There’s no way Harry can ignore him like this.

Harry sighs, uncoordinatedly flipping the laminated pages back until he’s at the very beginning, thus proving Louis to be correct. Harry can’t ignore pouty Louis, no matter their friendship slash awkward relationship status.

The very first page isn’t a photo rather there’s a painting compactly folded over so it can fit in the opening between the two pieces of laminate. “Can I?” Louis asks, hands hesitating above the opening.

“You’re going to no matter what I say.” Harry answers.

Louis takes it as a straightforward yes. He carefully parts the laminate and slides the old green construction paper out. The paper is folded over four times, and when he completely unfolds it it’s nearly the size of a blue print. All of the creases don’t line up, showing that it’s been unfolded and folded time after time again, and the edges are frayed and ripped from use.

The painting is one of a man in a dark uniform with his back turned. He’s stood in the center of a dark path, but surrounding him are white roses, piling up until they nearly match his height. It’s raining in the piece, practically storming, a streak of lightning is painted in the sky.

“This was my first _real_ painting, I guess,” Harry says as Louis continues to study the piece. It’s obvious that someone with clumsy fingers and jerky movements painted it, not all of the lines are straight and some of the colors intermingle where they obviously shouldn’t. “I hung it in room for the majority of my childhood.”

“What’s the significance?” Louis asks. “I thought you liked to paint portraits.” He brushes his fingers over the man’s silhouette. The entire piece makes him feel...sad. The overall emotion behind the painting is not one of positive intent.

“I was like eight when I painted it. I didn’t start doing portraits until my second year at uni,” Harry explains, swallowing as he stares at the scene before him. He spent days creating that piece. It was his entire world in that moment. He was only eight years old and completing the fucking painting was all that mattered. “They um...it was on display at my dad’s funeral.”

“Oh.” Louis whispers. “I’m sorry if…”

Harry doesn’t let him finish his thought. “He was a police officer, you know? He was an amazing police officer actually. My mum says he was commissioner of police, which is like a huge deal when it comes to ranking, I guess, and everyone looked up to him. Everyone loved him. He was adored by so many people and when he died, it was kinda like...I don’t know, like a darkness haunted my hometown.”

Louis listens to Harry, refusing to speak until he finishes. He never knew Harry’s father was a police officer and a prestigious one at that. It just goes to show how much there is to learn about him.

“I don’t really remember his funeral too well,” Harry admits, “But I do remember a lot of people showed up and they all had little white roses pinned to their clothes. See, my dad, whenever he reached the end of a case, he would send a bouquet of white roses to people affected by the crime to offer his sympathy, but at his funeral they all wore the white roses as a symbol of reverence, so the white roses on the painting were a last minute add on.”

Louis bites down on his bottom lip. “He sounds like he was a good man.”

“He was.” Harry whispers. “He was killed in the line of duty, which was really what made our community upset. People didn't feel as protected.”

Louis sighs, running his hand through his hair. He doesn’t feel bad for Harry, rather he feels an abundance of respect for Harry’s late father. He had grandfathers and great grandfathers who served in wars, but he never had firsthand experiences with police officers.

“Do you remember him?” Louis asks.

“Yes and no,” Harry answers, taking the painting from Louis’ hands. “Sometimes I can remember him so clearly, like that picture of the two of us on the boat, I remember that day really well, but other times it's like I never knew him at all.”

Louis can understand the feeling, not to the extent of what Harry feels, but forgetting a loved one is a very emotional situation. There’s usually guilt associated with it, sometimes anger, because you want to remember the person more than anything else, but it becomes so hard to.

“I wanted to be a police officer actually,” Harry glances over at Louis, smiling weakly, “but when you're like me people will do anything to shoot your dreams down before you get too attached. I was fifteen when my mum told me that I should think of a different career and let me tell you, it absolutely crushed me. I thought, you know, maybe they would find something for me to do in law enforcement. I know that I'm not in the best physical shape, I can't move very well, I'm not agile, I have weak bones, I could go on and on, but I’m smart Louis. I’m so smart and they could have used me for something.”

Louis’ heart aches a little more for Harry. He can’t believe that Anne shut down any thought of Harry becoming a police officer. What ever happened to you can't be anything you want to be as long as you try? Nothing is impossible?

He doesn't even know where to begin. What can he possibly say to Harry when there is nothing to say? “God Harry...I...I’m so sorry.”

“I was at the top of my class, you know? Like I had all A’s, almost had perfect scores on my GCSE’s and I could have gone so far. I wouldn't have been a field officer, I could have done something...like behind the scenes, I could done something with investigations or...or even computer stuff. I just...something, anything, I would have been satisfied doing anything. My dad left such a legacy and I always wanted to carry on our name, but...look at me,” he says. “I got fired from Burger King and I can’t hold down a job. The one thing in life that actually makes me happy in life I can't do. I -”

“I told you I would help you paint.” Louis interrupts.

“That’s not what I mean.” Harry argues. “I just...do you know how liberating it would feel if I could just paint for the rest of my life and get paid for it? I want to make a career out of painting. I have a degree from university and four years later, I haven't done a damn thing with it.” He has panic laced in his voice and he starts to speak faster, absolutely rambling, and it becomes harder for Louis to understand him. “What am I going to do? I can't handle an legitimate job. I...I could hardly handle a job at Burger King and after you go back on tour, I’ll have to go back home and I can’t...I won't be able to pay my bills. I get money from the government, sure, but I’m going to lose my flat Louis.”

Louis sits up and turns to face Harry. “Harry hey,” he tucks two fingers underneath his chin and lifts his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. “Take it easy. It’s okay love. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere for a while, we’ll sort it out.”

Harry’s eyes may be glazed over with impending tears, but he still manages to laugh. Louis doesn't understand why until he says. “I hate being an adult.”

“I'm twenty six years old and I still don't know how to be an adult,” Louis says, reposing his hand to rest on the side of Harry’s neck. “It’s going to be alright. Let’s think about this logically, okay? We’ll put away the portfolio, which you will show me the rest of later, and discuss this like two adults.” He carefully folds the paper and slips it back between the laminated sheets before shutting the binder and setting it on the coffee table. “Alright, so if you want to be a painter, then why don't you just become a painter?”

Louis doesn't really understand the concept behind becoming an artist. If Harry wants to be an artist why can’t he just do it? Anyone can be an artist, especially someone with Harry’s talent. Surely someone wants to buy his art or hire him as a consultant or something. There has to be something out there for him.

Harry sighs. “It's a lot harder than it sounds. I’ve tried to put my art out there, but you have to be unique to make profit.”

“For Christ’s sake, you are unique. I don't know another artist like you.” Louis doesn't mean to sound as enthusiastic and determined as he feels, but fails to hide it.

“How many artists do you know?”

“Okay you've got me there,” Louis suppresses a sigh. “But out of the artists I’ve heard of, I've never heard of one having cerebral palsy and still being able to paint.”

Harry meets his eyes, “The world doesn't care about sob stories. At the end of the day, I'm just another person to the art community.”

“But you're not just another person. Take your disability out of the equation, right? Look at your art, like genuinely look at it, I don't know anyone who paints portraits the way you do. They’re so abstract and amazing in their own ways.”

Harry rests his head back against the couch. “Sometimes, I wonder if that’s enough. Can I really make a career out of it or will I be back in Cheshire with my mum in a few months?”

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to. If you don't want to live with her then don’t. I have the wealth, I'll take care of you.” Louis offers. He can’t take the way Harry’s staring down at his lap. He refuses to make eye contact. This isn't something he's comfortable with discussing, but Louis’ so proud of him for opening up.

“I don’t expect you to do that. You’re already letting me stay here, I couldn't ask for anything more. I've only known you for three months, why are you doing all of this for me?” Harry asks as though he doesn't deserve it.

“I care about you. I don't know how to explain it, but ever since I first met you, I’ve felt such a strong attraction. I've never felt this way before.” Louis shifts closer, coming face to face with him. “I know the thought of falling in love makes you nervous Harry, but I really do think I'm falling for you and I understand if...you don't necessarily feel the same.”

Harry’s breathing deepens and his eyes catch on Louis’ lips. “Um. I don't...I don't know how I feel.” he whispers, truthfully. “I’ve never been in love.”

“This is a first for the both of us then,” Louis replies, cradling Harry’s jaw. “It’s okay to be unsure. I know we said we were together these last months, but I don’t think I gave it my all and I’d like to try it again.”

A silence falls between the both of them. Their deep breathing is the only thing keeping the two of them from sitting in desolate quiet until Harry finally decides to speak, “I’d like to try again, too.” He places his hand on top of Louis’. “Thanks for this. All of this. It feels good to get stuff off my chest.”

“Any time you want to talk, let me know. I’d be more than willing to listen. You’re a really interesting person.” Louis says, though it sounds more like a promise. He wants Harry to know that he doesn’t ever feel bored when he talks. Everything he says is intriguing in its own way. “Now, can I kiss you?”

“Oh Jesus Christ, I thought you’d never ask.” Harry says in one breath, leaning forward. He brushes his nose and lips against Louis’, at such a slow pace it’s almost as if he’s teasing him. Who knew Harry had it in him to be a tease?

Louis curls his fingers around Harry’s bicep, squeezing to let him know he wants him to take it farther. Harry quirks a smile before finally meeting Louis’ lips and slipping his tongue past them.

Louis was the one to teach him how to kiss. He’s been kissed before but he never knew there was more to kissing aside from pressing lips together. _Movement and touch are key,_ Louis had told him, _you want to make sure you touch the other person, it makes everything more sensual._

Louis’ neck arches as soon as Harry bites down on his lip. Harry’s still a bit sloppy, which he can’t help, but it doesn’t matter, Louis has craved this for so long.

As he tugs his fingers through Harry’s long curls, holding his head closer to deepen the kiss, he realizes that all of the stars have aligned and this is exactly what he wanted.

He wanted Harry to open up to him. He wanted Harry to know how he felt about him. So, maybe their “split” and Harry’s accident were all part of a plan to bring them back together, stronger than before.

Harry seems to believe in the old wise tale of everything happening for a reason. Maybe, just maybe, he’s right.


	5. Chapter 5

Louis sits on the floor, observing the shredded paintings scattered around him. He can’t quite tell which torn pieces match to others judging by the seemingly infinite blur of color and etched facial features dispersed around him. He isn’t even sure he cleared all of the scraps from Harry’s studio floor, for all he knows he may be missing half of the collection. 

The original idea was to surprise Harry with a stacked of taped, good as new portraits, but at this rate ,he doesn’t deem it plausible. There’s only one painting he’s put back together, and it’s of a woman with pastel purple skin, stunning blue eyes, and plump, bright green lips, though he’s positive he’s taped the wrong nose to her features.

This is much harder than he assumed. A few pieces have dates scribbled on the back - some going as far back as ‘10 when Harry would have been somewhere around the age of eighteen and presumably in his second year of university - and he can rule those pieces as not fitting together with scraps that have '16 written on the back. Thankfully, it rules out a total of eleven slivers. 

The odd thing is there's no pieces with years between 2010 and 2016 scribbled on the back, which makes him think either Harry skipped doing it, or he's missing a huge pile of portraits. He hopes for his sanity it's the first possibility. 

He can’t imagine Harry as a college student. Attending university for the year and a half he did, he has basic understanding of typical college life, and Harry doesn't fit it. Part of him has trouble believing Harry acted any differently than he does now, as this is the only Harry he’s ever known, and so he finds himself wondering if Harry’s always been so restrictive and pessimistic. Understandably, Harry has his reasons for being the way he is, but Louis often wonders if he’s always behaved as emotionally estranged as he does now.

Sometimes he wonders if Harry knows how to process emotion at all.

His thoughts and reconstruction of the once glorious portraits are interrupted by his boyfriend’s gravely, yet slightly slurred voice echoing down the hallway. “Louis? Lou, are you still home?”

“I’m in the bedroom, love! Come on in.” Louis calls out to him. Honestly, he’s been putting these paintings together to try to negotiate a deal with Harry, to try and reconcile with the younger lad. Now, it isn’t as though anything he has to say is bad - it’s not like he’s kicking him out of the flat - but what he does have to tell him will most likely make him an anxious mess. He thinks he may be able to keep Harry calm, then he remembers how well he knows him, and realizes it's just not likely. 

They’ve been back together for five weeks now, and Harry’s still recovering from his fall, though the cast finally came off last week and Louis will dare to say this is the happiest he’s ever seen him. Getting back together took around three weeks plus encouragement and promise from his end, but after assuring Harry he cared about him, and he’d never set out to hurt him, things were alright, a bit awkward for a while, but alright. 

Harry pushes himself into the bedroom, halting in the middle of the doorway and raising an eyebrow when he sees the mess on the floor, “What in the world are you doing?”

“I’m trying to fix your paintings. It's taking me a lot longer than i thought, but I'm getting there, or at least, I think I am.” Louis explains, beginning to gather the pieces into a condensed pile, “You know, now that I’ve got you in here, I do need to talk to you about something.”

The tension hits an all time high. “Oh yeah? Well, what did you need?” Harry swallows, harsh, Adam’s apple thickly bobbing in his throat.

“My family is coming into town this weekend, and I wanted to know if you were comfortable with meeting them. If you’re not I completely understand, and I can change the plans, but for now they’re coming to stay for the weekend.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Meeting your family? Fuck Louis, I don’t know. I mean - I guess I have to, don’t I?”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, that’s why I’m giving you an option.” Louis assures, shifting to sit back on his heels. Truth be known, he wants his family to meet Harry, he already knows they’ll love him. But despite wanting his sisters and his mum to gush over his boyfriend, he doesn’t want to have it happen if it’s going to cause Harry major anxiety. As his boyfriend he’s never set out to do that to him due to knowing how bad his anxiety can get, and he would never purposely want to put Harry through such grief. 

"What if - shit, what if they don't like me?" Harry whispers, carelessly running his good hand over his face. The arm he had broken, as a result of his fall, is still healing, and will continue to heal for months to come. He has most of his mobility back, and he's out of the sling. Both are great things, but he's still struggling to perform certain tasks. For example, he isn't able to use his crutches for long periods of time, parts of his hand and fingers unpredictably fall numb.

Louis suppresses a sigh, briefly ceasing his tidying to glance at Harry, "That's not possible, Harry. My mum, along with everyone else, already adore you. Hell, the girls have been gushing about you for weeks." He shakes his head, continuing to stuff the rags of portrait back into the bin they were dumped out of.

"But they haven't met me. They're going to see the chair in person, and that's it, I'll just be some guy in a wheelchair like I've always been, not your boyfriend, not a nice person, some guy stuck in a chair, and I don't want your family to think of me like that. I don't think that's too much to ask for."

"They would never think of you like that. For fuck's sake, you're my boyfriend, not some charity case. I promise you, they're going to start crying tears of joy when they see what a beautiful person I've fallen for."

Harry huffs, adjusting himself in his chair, "What if I say the wrong thing then? Offend one of the younger ones, or something?"

Louis can't believe this, any of this. He never made his family out to be an intimidating group of people, had he? Harry sounds scared to death of the people Louis loves the most. "My God, why have you put so much thought into this? You sound like you're trying to find a reason for them not to like you. Please don't worry, they're going to love you."  

"What if - " Harry begins.

Louis interjects. "Enough. No more what ifs. They're going to love you and you're going to love them and that's final. Please tell me we've come to an agreement."

Harry can't believe he's going to say it, but there it is, right at the tip of his tongue. "Okay." he breathes out, shaky, "Okay, I'll meet your family, and by the way, you have the wrong nose pinned to the lady's face. I remember her features all being petite." he adds, then maneuvers himself around and exits the bedroom.

Louis only shakes his head, chuckling when he fondly says, "What am I going to do with him?"

 

 

 

 

The doorbell rings, and pitched noise floods into the entire flat. Harry's heart drops into his stomach at the exact same moment. He didn't remember to rehearse what he was going to say to his boyfriend's family, and now his train of thought is crumbling. His anxiety is about to fuck him over, and he’s going to make a fool of himself, resulting in a lack of Louis' mother's respect. All he really wants is for her to like him. He _really_ doesn't think it’s too much to ask for.

"Oh, they're here!" Louis cheers, walking down the hallway with a t-shirt slung over his shoulder. Being that he's shirtless his abdominal muscles are on full display. His hair is still damply matted to his scalp from his shower. Despite not being fully prepared, his unruly state still makes Harry's skin tingle.

Also, Harry may be a tad envious of Louis' physique. Louis has no choice but to stay in shape, and he looks damn good while keeping his efforts. Harry’s own biceps are buff from having to move the wheelchair along, but his abdominal muscles are non-existent. He's skinny, perhaps a little too skinny for his height, and a little pudgy around his stomach, but then again, it's not exactly something he has control of.

If it were up to him, he would be on the floor, working his hardest to exceed the number of crunches and push-ups professionals achieve in a single sitting. If it were up to him, he would follow Louis to the gym, and he would do it without Louis having to offer to help him get on the machines.

Louis’ a bit over confident when he addresses his opinion concerning Harry’s workout regimen. He seems sure that Harry could do a mad number of pull-ups because of how toned his arms are, and even more assured that Harry could lift weights twice his weight.

Harry’s glad that one of them feels certain.

He looks down at his lap, nervously running his uninjured hand through his mane. At least the wheelchair is out of sight, so hopefully it'll be out of mind. There’s hope instilled in him that Louis can keep the hosting to a minimum in the living room. Now, he isn’t sure how many hours of a weekend visit can be kept contained in a loft, but Louis’ assured him that he’ll try his best.

Part of him wonders if Louis’ family will expect him to properly greet them. He won’t be able to. His legs don’t work. He can hardly stand on his own, let alone stand to give them all a proper introduction with a grand ol’ hug. What if that sets them off and the rest of their visit is condescending glares and forced muteness? Harry won’t make it through the visit without suffering an anxiety attack.

Louis detects Harry's uneasiness. His hand stops on the doorknob as he's prepared to turn it, and he shifts his stance to peer at Harry. "You trust me, don't you love?"

"More than anyone else." he says, honest, then hesitates before asking, “Why?”

"Trust me when I say it's going to be okay." Louis proposes, meeting his eyes from across the den. "Take a deep breath for me. If you start to feel uneasy, you won’t hesitate to let me know will you?”

He swallows. “No.”

“Because if you do start to feel overwhelmed then I want to be the first to know,” Louis faces the door again, but flexes his hand, sighing, “I really don’t want you to worry about this. My family is going to adore you as soon as they lay eyes on your gorgeous face. All you really have to worry about is what the girls may try to do to your pretty hair.”

Harry nods, and Louis takes that as the okay to open the door and welcome his family inside. They’ve yet to see his house in person, only in dingy, invasive paparazzi photos posted on the internet without his permission, so he’ll take the time to give them a tour of the place after they've been thoroughly introduced to Harry. That's really what this visit is all about.

As soon as the front door creaks open, a storm of women swarm Louis with hugs and cheek caresses, and to be truthful, Harry feels more awkward than before. He doesn’t physically show any excitement, aside from the forced, tight-lipped smile he’s accumulated.

Obviously, he understood there were nine Tomlinsons, including Louis’ mother and step-father, but when he's seeing them in person, it becomes a bit harder for him to correlate names to faces. He knows the short platinum blonde girl is Charlotte, or Lottie, sometimes Lotts, the oldest of Louis’ younger siblings, and she spends a lot of time with Louis while he’s shipped off to different continents for tour, and he also knows the very tall, very natural looking brunette is the second oldest sister, Félicité, or Fizzy as called by her family, and she’s extremely intelligent, a gene Louis always jokes he wishes he had more of.

Though after recognizing those two familiar faces, Harry doesn’t remember much else. He can’t tell the first set of twins apart, struggles to think of their names, and the second set, even though they’re each a different sex, Harry cannot for the life of him recall a thing about either of them, not even their names.

He knows Louis’ mum is Johannah, preferably Jay, and his step-dad is Dan, but not a detail he was previously told about either of them comes to him. Louis spent so much time telling Harry little details about each member of his family, and now it's all gone to shit. 

Was Dan a fan of Manchester United or was it he absolutely despised them? What was Jay’s old profession before becoming a full-time housewife? Which girl was allergic to shellfish?

He doesn’t remember.

While they have their little family reunion, Harry swallows, almost pitying his own family. Why weren’t they more like the Tomlinsons? God, whenever the Styles were rounded together along or when Anne’s side of the family gathered the result was a lot of arguing, crying, and someone making death threats over an otherwise worthless topic. Sometimes if Harry was really lucky, his Uncle Cal would get piss drunk and make a comment about his disability, and his CP would become the cause of the arguing, crying, and death threats.

Reunions were always a good, fun time.

Snapping back to reality, Harry doesn’t know how any of this is going to work. He hopes Louis isn’t going to make his family form a single file line to introduce themselves. There needs to be a natural element to all of this, or else Harry’s going to find himself feeling more tense and awkward than usual.

It was a mistake for him to agree to this. He folds his hands together on his lap, shrinking into the back of the couch. This is it, the last weekend he’s going to spend with Louis, all because he’s going to mess up with his family and they’re going to hate him. He already figures he isn’t within Louis’ league, but having his boyfriend’s family confirm it for him may very well send him over the edge.

It isn’t until he hears his name that he pulls his focus back onto the situation evolving in front of him. “Harry love, this is my mum.” Louis says, and when Harry looks to where Louis’ voice is coming from, he finds a elegant woman, fondly staring at him. While Louis doesn’t look much like her anywhere aside from across the eyes, the mannerisms they have are similar. From the way they both stand with their shoulders rolled back to the way their smiling expressions glow, the two of them are obviously closely related.

Harry starts to talk, starts to tell her how happy he is to finally meet her, starts to mention what a lovely man Louis is, but it all halts in his throat. He doesn’t know what to say. He thought he finally had it precisely planned out, of course now that he’s actually supposed to say it, he freezes.

Jay fills in for him, making it seem like he didn’t coil up and forget how to use his words, “My goodness, you’re just as darling as Louis said you were. It is so, so nice to finally meet you Harry.” The way she bends down, not expecting him to make the effort, and tightly embraces him, catches him by utter surprise. Slowly, he wraps his arms around her torso, and it happens that his chin rests comfortably on her shoulder. Louis meets his eyes, raising his eyebrows and smiling, as if telling Harry _I told you so_.

He oddly enough feels loved by this perfect stranger who isn’t so strange. She makes him feel safe, not quite as safe as Louis, but if he were in danger, she’d step in front of him in a heartbeat. After their hug, Jay pulls away from him, resting her hands on his shoulders. “Louis said you were worrying yourself to death about meeting the lot of us, why is that?”

She’s very straightforward, too. “I...uh, you know it’s just you're his family, and I really want to make a good impression on all of you.” Harry halfway stutters out.

A smile perks itself on her lush lips. “To be fair, I think we were far more anxious about meeting you,” she says, never losing the fond she looks at him with. A bit of an awkward silence falls between them, then Jay asks, “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Oh, um...no, of course not.” he says, beginning to move over for her, but she grabs his arm, stopping his actions.

“I’ve got more than enough room.” She sits to his left, which leaves the spot to his right empty. When Harry looks, expecting to find Louis standing close by, he instead finds him stood by his sisters, throwing his head back and pulling one of the older twins closer to him with something she says. Harry can’t help but smile. “He’s an amazing brother.” Jay notes.

Harry glances back over at her. “He’s an amazing boyfriend too. You know, I’ve never...I’ve never met someone quite like him. He treats me different than everyone else, but it’s a good different, a really good different. You raised him well.” There’s a lump forming in his throat, and he’s telling himself not to cry in front of his boyfriend’s mother who he’s met not even three minutes ago. 

In fact, he can’t believe he’s being honest with a lady he’s never spoken to before, though it feels natural. He’s partially convinced she’s an old friend, someone who he’s exposed all of his secrets to, a specimen who knows him better than he knows himself.

“I’m very proud of the man he’s become.” She’s not looking at Louis in this moment, rather she only has eyes for Harry. Her eyes haven’t left his face since he first turned to look at her. “He only has good things to say about you. Every morning I hear my phone ringing and I can only wonder what he’s going to tell me about you. I love it, I love the stories he tells me, the adventures the two of you have together.” she pauses. “He feels blessed to have you in his life.”

Something inside of Harry twinges with shock. Blessed? Louis feels blessed to have him? That’s not a word usually associated with who he is as an human being, but hearing it makes him feel like he’s worth something. The only other time he’s heard it was a time when his old therapist when she tried to convince him of the blessing in disguise he was to his mother. He is no blessing to his mother. He’s the definition of an heartache.

“He said that?”

“Every morning.” Jay smiles, reaching over to take his hand, “You’re a very special young man Harry. Don’t you let anyone tell you different.”

After his unexpected conversation with Jay, he goes through the process of being introduced to every single one of Louis’ sisters and his little brother. Although, Ernest and Doris, who turn out to be the youngest set of twins’ names, don’t seem to comprehend the idea of Harry being their older brother’s boyfriend, rather they see him as their version of a playground.

“Oh no babies don’t climb on him, he isn’t a jungle gym. I’m so sorry Harry, I hope they’re not hurting you.” Jay apologies, trying her hardest to quickly and effortlessly gather them into her arms.

Harry lays a palm on her shoulder. “They’re okay. I promise to let you know if they start to hurt me, but I doubt they will.”

He’s calmed down a lot upon meeting the entire family. Louis sits to the right of him now, his arm resting on the couch behind him, as if he’s going to make a move only seen in cliché romantic comedies.

The rest of the family is spread out in the den. Phoebe and Daisy, the older set of twins, are both sat on the floor in front of their mum’s legs. One of them plays on an iPad, which has an absurdly pink, sparkly case, while the other angrily pouts, bothering her sister about how it’s her turn to play. Lottie and Dan sit on the curve of L-shaped sofa adjacent to them, intently hanging on to every word anyone says. Fizzy, on the other hand, has no desire in sharing as she takes the recliner all for herself, spreading her curvy body across it’s entirety.

Harry decides then that she’s his favorite Tomlinson sibling. Although he supposes it could be she looks the most like Louis, and he blatantly _loves_ the way Louis looks, so looking at his female look alike isn’t bad, at all.

“So, are you like confined to a wheelchair Harry?” Lottie asks, catching him off guard, though he does appreciate her honest curiosity. "Or can you actually walk?"

Louis deeply exhales, opening his mouth to correct her, until Harry cuts him short, bracing a hand on his thigh, telling him to relax. He’s got this. He’s feeling a bit more confident than usual, and he's use to explaining himself to people who don't quite understand him. “I don’t have a whole lot of strength in my legs, but I actually use crutches to get around. I haven’t been able to use them since I had my accident a few weeks ago, technically I can start to use them again if I want. It’s just - I’ve been a bit uneasy about it.”

No one has spoken a word about his speech impediment, which makes him feel much more confident. He expected one of the younger girls or Ernest to ask why he speaks so funny, and he’s especially happy no one’s asked him to repeat himself. They don’t seem to care that he talks out of the side of his mouth nor do they care that some of his words lack perfected enunciation. For once, he feels comfortable in his skin around people who aren't his sister or Louis, and it feels magnificent.  

Lottie scrunches her nose at his explanation. “Ah, yeah, sorry I heard about that. Are you at least feeling better?” she asks, curious. 

“Much better,” Harry grins, peering over at Louis, “I owe that to your brother though. He’s got the patience of a saint, and I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without him. I’m very lucky.”

Fizzy snorts. “If only he had that patience with me! When we were younger, he tried to teach me how to play footie and I couldn’t quite get it. Ended up kicking me right in the bloody face! I still have nightmares about it.”

“That only happened because you got too close behind me Fiz.” Louis argues, letting out a heavy sigh. He looks to Harry. “I didn’t really kick my eight year old sister in the face, babe, I promise. I would never do that.”

“ _Great._ ” Harry shuts his eyes, letting out a heavy, exasperated sigh. Doris is easily entertained by his long hair, curling her fingers in it’s volume. She tugs on it, not enough to make him wince, but enough to make him open his eyes.

“What? What’s great? What did I do?” Louis asks. A hint of uncertainty has settled in his tone.

“I’ll have to start moving quicker for you. I really don’t want you kicking my face in, my looks are about all I have going for me,” Harry brushes his fingers against his own face, holding back a laugh. As soon as Louis realizes he’s kidding, a loud, partially forced laugh leads him.

Louis slaps his bicep, then proceeds to slap at his chest, “You’re an absolutely awful human! You had me frightened that I said something wrong.” he exclaims, then leans in closer, “And for the record, you’re a lot more than a pretty face.”

“Aren’t you just charming?” Harry teases, keeping his eyes on Louis’. He gives him a quick kiss. “I do appreciate it though. No wonder those girls want to throw panties at you all night, sweet talker. If I could undress myself faster, I would throw my delicates at you every time you said something charming. You know what that means don’t you?”

Louis shakes his head, chuckling, not understanding where Harry may be going with any of this. For a moment, he wonders if he should tell Harry to keep it appropriate, but decides against it. Whatever he has to say can’t possibly be too wildly inappropriate.

“I’d never have any on.”

A laugh leaves Jay first. “I like this one. He’s a keeper.”

They talk for a while longer, but of course it wouldn't be a proper family get together without an interruption getting in the way. The older girls start complaining about how bloody famished they are and how it’s nearly two hours past suppertime.

Louis looks to the wall clock hanging from the otherwise blank wall across from them. “Oh, would you look at that, they’re right. It’s half past eight, should we order some takeout? Does that work for everyone?” he asks.

“Oh come on, Louis,” Lottie groans. Harry’s understanding is she’s quite the partier, and has been since she was sixteen. She’s nearing twenty, and Louis always worries about her well-being when he sees photos of her drinking her sobriety away at clubs and concerts. He also understands she can be a brat, and has almost always gotten her way since she was little. “It’s our first night at your new place, show us around the city, at least take us to a nice restaurant.”

Rotherham is a fairly large city in South Yorkshire, located a few miles out of Sheffield. It’s nice, truly it is, but between a rushed move from one apartment to the next, tour, and then caring for Harry, Louis hasn’t had time to explore. He doesn't know much about the people, the architecture, the opportunities, or the fucking restaurants for that matter. 

Jay glances towards Harry, then shakes her head, scolding her oldest daughter. “Lottie, we can settle for take out tonight. Maybe we'll go out tomorrow or Sunday.”

Lottie rolls her eyes. “Oh, how fun.”

She tends to have a bad attitude, even when she travels with him. Satisfaction is non-existent when it comes to her. Fortunately, she's the only Tomlinson sister who seems to have that reoccurring problem. 

Louis sighs. “On second thought there’s a nice little Italian place downtown, Goodfellas, someone can ring them to make sure they have room for a party of ten.”  

“I’m on it.” Fizzy offers, phone already halfway to her ear.

Harry looks down at his lap, beginning to wring his fingers together again. It's a nervous habit. He’s been out of the flat a few times to go to his appointments, but the thought of going to a nice dinner with his boyfriend’s family and plausibly embarrassing himself makes him feel lightheaded. He swears sparks of light are rapidly flashing in front of his eyes.

Of course, Louis instantly notices and sits forward, twisting his body to face him. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to have some great food, and some great conversation. I won’t let anything bad happen to you while we’re out.”

Harry panics, a lot, and Harry frightens easily, and people get angry with him for it. Louis would never yell at Harry for having anxiety, not when it’s something he has no control over. The two of them have been working on it, and with time, it’s been getting better. Although, it’s also unpredictable, which, for lack of better words, sucks, and Louis tries to understand as much as he can.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be in Harry’s shoes, he doesn’t know what it’s like to have people constantly tell him what his limits are, he doesn’t know what it’s like waking up in the morning and not knowing what the day is going to entail.

The only thing he understands, loosely, is people staring and judging him like they know the first thing about him, and even then, the two of them are at very different ends of the spectrum. Louis chose to become a singer, Harry never chose to lack ability in his legs.

“They said they’ll reserve tables for us.” Fizzy announces.

Louis touches Harry’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Harry asks as he looks up to meet his eyes.

Nodding encouragingly, he squeezes Harry’s shoulder, saying, “Anything.”

“Um…” Harry shakily breaths, eyeing Louis’ family who aren’t looking at him, seemingly involved in their own conversations, but he knows they’re curious about the shushed interaction happening in front of them. “Can you - will you have them meet us at the restaurant? I don’t want them to see me get in my chair.”

Louis tells his family to do exactly that, and it works out. Lottie drove separately with Fizzy, and Jay came in a separate vehicle with her husband and the two sets of twins. “We’ll meet you there in a few minutes. Don’t eat all the rolls.” he jokes, watching them as they exit in what’s truly a single file line. He looks back to Harry. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, babe, they don’t care.”

Harry shakes his head. “Just...grab my wheelchair please.”

He’s left sitting by himself as Louis wanders down the hall to the bedroom. He knows he shouldn’t feel heat creeping onto his cheeks, and his heart shouldn’t hurt, but it does. His disability didn’t seem real when he was telling stories about his college experiences and living in a small village, but now the realization has hit him hard. He hates remembering.

When he looks up the wheelchair is in front of him, and Louis’ standing beside it, hesitating to speak. He hates making Louis upset, sometimes even more than having to remember, because Louis will flash him a sad, forced smile like what he’s said or the way he’s acted hasn’t hurt his feelings. That very smile is painted on his face now.

“Would you mind giving me a hand? My legs are so stiff.” he says, sitting forward. A spark of pain shoots up his spine as soon as he moves, and he chokes on a gasp. Sitting for such a long period of time hasn’t proven to help the spasticity in his legs.

Louis’ mostly proud of him for growing as a person, and learning how to ask for help when he needs it, rather than suffering. Though as soon as he hears the pained noise leave Harry, the internal pride vanishes and all of his attention is on him. “Are you alright? Babe? Harry?" He's concerned. His boyfriend is in pain, and while that may be concerning for any couple, it's reaches a whole new level of concern given Harry's circumstances. "What's going on?" 

“No, nothing, I’m just a bit stiff. My pump should be giving me some medicine soon, I’ll be okay.” Harry breathes. His lips clamp together and his fist clenches as another shot of discomfort rattles through him. Breathe through it, he tells himself, that’s all you can do.

“Do you want to give it a few minutes? No one’s going to care if we’re a few minutes late.” Louis assures, eyeing Harry closely. His face is tense, jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowed, and he feels a jolt of pain just by looking at his boyfriend.

Harry shakes his head. “I need to get up, stretch my legs out, it’s going to hurt worse if I sit here. Give me your hands.” It comes out more as demand, but Louis doesn’t care, his only worry is helping Harry feel better. Slow and cautious, he knows how it works. They've done this time after time. 

He puts both of his hands out in front of him for Harry to grab onto, and once their fingers are intertwined, he takes a step back, tugging Harry forward, to his feet.

Unfortunately, as soon as his weight relies on his legs pain engulfs the entire lower half of his body and a sharp hiss explodes past his tight lips. “Fuck.”

“You alright?” Louis asks, worried. "Should I stop?"

“Yeah, I’m alright, let’s keep going,” he whispers, eyes slightly glazed over with impending tears. Louis feels awful, not wanting to move anymore until Harry gathers his bearings. They’re going to have a repeat of this downstairs at the car, unless Harry’s pain medication magically kicks in.

One step back for Louis, one step forward for Harry, and repeat. The wheelchair is five steps away from the couch, then comes the bit where Louis has to turn the two of them around, flipping their positions, so Harry’s back is to the chair. “Go ahead, reach behind for the arm, and then we'll get you sitting down.” he encourages, holding Harry’s right hand as his left searches for the arm of the wheelchair. Once he has a firm grip, Harry slowly lets go of Louis entirely as he grabs for the other arm with his right hand, then carefully lowers himself until his bum presses to the seat. “All right?” Louis asks.

Harry shifts in the chair until he finds himself feeling comfortable, then kicks the feet rest into position, resting the soles of his feet on the metal. “Much better.”

The pain medication does kick in sometime between the flat and the car. It’s easier for Louis to help Harry transfer himself into the car, and even easier to get him out when they arrive at the restaurant. The two of them go in side by side, finding their party already sat a table near the front, leading to them walking past the hostess and waiting patrons without a problem.

It's a small restaurant, but still big enough for Harry to freely move through. Burgundy chairs and cloth-lined tables are pushed close together, and many of them already have people sat at them. At a glance, it looks like Goodfellas is a rather popular restaurant in these parts. Louis only remembered it from skimming the paper a few times and seeing the name mentioned a few times. It smells of garlic bread and homemade spaghetti sauce.

Louis pulls one of two empty chairs out, moving it to the side, not quite in the aisle, but close, before having Harry slide into the open spot between the other empty chair and Jay. He takes a seat in the empty chair. “Everyone find the place, alright?”

“Yes, and it’s a wonderful little diner. It smells absolutely divine. What a good choice, lovey.” Jay smiles. She catches Harry by surprise when she reaches over to rub his bicep. He doesn’t understand, at first, then comes to his senses, realizing that the Tomlinson’s are a touchy family, and they share gestures often.

Louis smiles, proud of himself. It’s not often he’s surrounded by praise, usually only when his family or Harry are around. Show Business is full of critique. Every tiny little thing he does is analyzed and turned into a field day for the media. If he’s seen out at the grocery store without Harry then they’re broken up or he's ashamed to be with him. If he is seen with Harry, he’s a media whore who craves pity because of his boyfriend’s condition. He doesn't care about his public image anymore, he can't, not when there's no way for him to win against those twisted media outlets.

Two baskets of rolls are brought to the table along with everyone’s desired drinks - root beer for Louis, and water with a crisp lemon wedge for Harry. “I hear you’re a very talented artist, Harry.” Jay addresses, curious.

“Oh, I’m alright.” Harry shrugs, taking a swig of lemon water with modesty.

Louis barks out a laugh. “Always humble, this one. He’s amazing, mum, you should see his portraits. I can guarantee you've never seen anything like it. He doesn’t use references, just his imagination. It’s insane.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Harry interjects, finally setting his cup of water down, before adding, “I used a few models during university, and before my fall, Louis was actually my model.”

Jay raises her eyebrows. “Really? This is the first I’m hearing of this. Why didn’t you tell me poppet?”

I forgot, he wants to say. He truly has forgotten about it. With going on tour so suddenly, being bombarded with advertising the new album, and Harry injuring himself, he forgot that his portrait is a work in progress, if it’s even still around. It was probably the first painting Harry ripped to shreds. “I figured we stopped working on it.”

Harry shakes his head. “I already finished it.”

That’s weird. Why didn’t Harry tell him it was done? “When the hell did you finish painting me?” he blurts.

“Like, a few months ago, before you flew out to Asia.” Harry confesses, nonchalant, as he stares at Louis like he’s grown another head. “What’s the matter with that?”

Louis tilts his head, confusion causing a string of incoherent words to leave him, “I just - how? Why didn’t you tell me? Why haven’t I seen it?”

“Haven’t gotten around to it yet. Hey, don’t worry about it, maybe I’ll show you someday.” Harry throws his head back with a hearty laugh and squeezes his boyfriend's thigh upon seeing Louis slump his shoulders with a defeated sigh.

“Well now I want to see the bloody thing if it’s as amazing as you lot are making it sound.” Fizzy ultimately decides with a mouthful of excessively buttered roll.

Harry smiles at her. Yes, she is definitely his favorite Tomlinson sibling, and now determines the two of them will make great friends. His goal is to pursue a friendship with his boyfriend’s eighteen year old sister, and he couldn’t think of a better objective. “I can make that happen.”

Turns out, Louis isn’t completely defeated. He pitches another weak argument. “That’s not fair. I was the model, that means I deserve to see it before anyone else.”

Perhaps it’s a bit sadistic, but seeing Louis moping over something so silly is quite amusing for Harry. “Sorry bro, not this time.” Fizzy shrugs.

Louis huffs out a groan as he reaches for a roll. “This sucks.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mock pouts, putting his chin to Louis’ shoulder, “It’s a surprise. You can’t ruin the surprise. It’ll make me very sad.”

“You’re ridiculous, Harry,” he whispers, not an ounce of venom laced in his tone. How can he with the cheer radiating off Harry’s face? Those green eyes of his are so bright, and his dimples look as though they may be permanently hollowed in his cheeks. He’s never loved anyone more. “but if torturing me makes you happy, then I suppose I can wait.”

“Kiss me to prove it.” Harry challenges.

Louis can’t argue with that. He turns his head, pressing his lips to Harry’s expectant ones, then kisses the end of his nose. “There. Now can I eat in peace?”

Harry laughs, pulling away from him as he too reaches for a roll and a butter packet. The rest of the night goes smoothly. The staff is nice, and they’re patient when Harry whispers his order into Louis’ ear and has him recite it to the waiter.

Understandably, he doesn’t want his speech to become a distraction, and the action doesn’t faze Louis in the slightest, as if it’s completely normal, which for their relationship, it is. 

Their differences work well together.

Conversation flows between everyone with ease, and Harry doesn’t feel like he has to be talking constantly for the Tomlinsons to like him. They’re a funny group of people, one of them always butts in with a joke or a hilarious story, and Harry can honestly say he’s never felt more at home.

 

 

 

 

After dinner, and after everyone finds their makeshift bedroom for the weekend, the two of them sprawl out on the bed in Louis’ bedroom.

Louis looks over at Harry, observing how beautiful he is from his profile. His face is sculpted perfectly, nose evenly shaped on his face, lavishly pouty, pink lips protruding outward, eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones every time he blinks. Something in the pit of Louis’ stomach shifts, and he finds himself straddling Harry’s waist before even digesting the thought.

“Jesus, what are you up to?” Harry breathes, startled by Louis’ sudden actions. He knows Louis’ impulsive, but he’s never been especially impulsive when it comes to romantic gestures.

Leaning down, Louis uses two fingers to lift Harry’s head, and places his lips against the underside of his jaw. Harry arches his neck without the guide of Louis’ fingers, giving his older boyfriend full access to the sensitive spots on his neck. He never knew lips sucking at his skin and a tongue grazing the delicate area could feel so good.

He shuts his eyes. “Seriously Louis, what are you doing?” he questions, knowing deep down what Louis’ hinting at, but he wants him to admit it, to _say_ it. The neck kissing slowly evolves to something much more intimate. Kisses are being scattered over his collarbones and shoulders while Louis’ undressing him, first removing his shirt, then ridding him of his trousers. Harry has his palm resting flat on Louis’ back, but then the fabric feels too constricting, he wants to touch his boyfriend all over without material getting in the way.

His efforts are clumsy, but the outcome is the same, though he goes a step further, removing Louis’ boxers. As soon as they’re out of the picture, Louis’ erect cock springs out, dripping with pre-cum. He happens to be bigger than Harry initially imagined.

"You have to tell me what you can do." Louis says, tone soft, nibbling Harry's ear. "I don't want to hurt you love.”

“Uh...I can’t really,” he feels his face flush, pulsating with heat as he realizes what he has to inform Louis of, “I can’t hold myself up. My,” he clears his throat, trying his hardest not to sputter out the next part in exasperation, “My hips are too tight, Louis, I can’t keep my legs bent.”

Louis doesn’t move away. Tucking a piece of Harry’s hair behind his ear, he presses a kiss to his temple. “Would it be easiest for you to lay on your stomach?” he asks.

Harry nods, turning his head away.

“Hey, it’s alright. I understand love, I’m just trying to make this as comfortable as I can for you. What if we put pillows underneath your hips? Elevate you a bit? Sound alright?” Louis continues, gently placing his hand underneath Harry’s chin, and turns his head so their eyes meet. “Are you comfortable with this?”

“I am.” Harry hesitates, then adds, “Before we go any further, I...um, I need you to grab a pill from my medicine bag.”

Louis’ throat goes dry. A pill for what? He doesn’t know if this something he wants to pursue if there’s a chance of putting Harry in danger. “Harry I - “

“It’s Viagra,” he sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. He’s embarrassed. This isn’t his first time having sex, and he worries Louis is going to be like the other two men he’s been with. Both of those nights happened on a whim, an ignorant, self-loathing whim, with men who didn’t care much about his safety. The first time hurt, like anyone would expect with anal penetration, but the man had left bruises on his hips and cheeks from clenching the skin between his fingers and yanking him about as much as he pleased. He was too controlling and dominant for Harry’s taste. “Takes me too long to get hard without it.” he adds, though Louis isn’t interested in the explanation.

He doesn’t question Harry any further, rather stands and pushes one of the blue pills out of the package, and returns to Harry. Harry dry swallows the pill as Louis’ seen him do time after time. Harry always says the ability comes with the territory.

“We have to wait.” Harry informs him, shallowly sighing, “Look, I’m really sorry that we can’t do this normally, Louis. I hope this doesn’t change things.”

Louis’ in the middle of gathering a few pillows. They should make it easier on himself and Harry. As long as Harry’s pelvic area is elevated, he’ll have relatively easy time pleasuring him without hurting him. “Normally?” he asks as though that may be the most absurd statement he’s ever heard. “Harry, it’s sex. I’ve waited this long to have sex with you, and I’m sure waiting a little longer for a pill to kick in isn’t going to change how I feel about it.”

And so they wait. It isn’t anymore than half an hour before Harry starts shifting, and when Louis looks at him, he sees the erection tenting the front of his underwear.

Louis crawls to him, absorbing him in a kiss. His hand travels south until he has a handful of Harry’s dick in the palm of his hand. “You sure you’re ready for this?” he mutters against Harry’s soft, plush lips.

A blast of confidence shoots through him. “Fuck yes.” he rolls to lay on his front side, easing himself up onto the pillows, then uses his hands to adjust himself until his hips are elevated higher than the rest of his body. Pressing his forearms into the mattress, he pushes his shoulders back and draws in a deep breath.

“You comfortable?” Louis asks. He kneels behind Harry, easing his legs apart.

Upon hearing Harry mumble a response, Louis slips his underwear down his stiff legs, carefully plucking each foot out of the boxer-briefs. He smiles when he sees Harry’s body shudder. “Anyone ever tell you how pretty your thighs are?” he asks, dragging his fingertips against the soft, pale skin. “God, I love seeing you from this angle.”

Harry bites down on his lip. Louis hasn’t done anything especially sensual, but the urge to rub himself all over these sheets comes in huge wave. His cheeks are pulled apart and Louis’ lips press a kiss to his right one.

Suddenly, his back arches at the sensation of Louis’ dry finger circling his rim, choking on a groan that deepens when Louis draws away and returns with sliding a lubed finger inside of him. Soon Louis' thrusting his finger in and out of his hole, then comes another finger, and one more, filling Harry to the brim with gasping breaths of air and heavy exhales. It’s when he hooks his pointer finger ever so slightly and finds Harry’s prostate that the younger boy started squirming beneath him.

“Fuck, Louis,” he moans, brokenly, burying his face against his forearm. His free hand grasps the bedding, knuckles turning white, the silky fabric filling the spaces between his fingers. Louis pulls his fingers out of Harry, then leans forward, hovering over his body. He peppers kisses along the long scar decorating his back.

“I love you, Harry Styles, you hear me? More than anything in this entire word, and I’m going to make love to you right now.” Maybe it’s the throbbing in his cock that has him feeling emotional, or maybe his heart has finally correlated with the feelings in his head because Harry has never been so beautiful and special to him.

Harry holds his head high, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at Louis. His eyes are teary, and it’s not from the pleasure Louis sparked on him, though that may have something to do with it. He can almost feel the overwhelming sensation of his heart expanding at the sight of Louis. “I love you so much.” Harry says, words thick. He takes a deep breath. “And now, I want you to love me like you never have before.”

His hand snakes underneath his body, grabbing for his own cock, and upon feeling the warm, pulsating shaft in his hand, he starts pumping, stirring his pelvis against his hand. As he’s doing this, Louis’ slipping a condom on and prodding his tip at Harry’s hole.

“Do it, Louis, please just fucking do it. I’m ready.” Harry begs, closing his eyes tight. And taking Harry’s request as very urgent, Louis slips inside, and Harry cries out, loudly. The first few thrusts feel foreign to Harry. He’s never felt this way in bed with anyone before, and the emotional intimacy is absurd. The pleasure he feels is wonderful, but the tears may start falling because he’s never loved someone quite as much as he loves Louis.

Louis finds his prostate with a few more thrusts, and Harry’s hand tightens around his own cock with more forceful pumps. Hands are on his hips, Louis’ bracing himself on Harry’s hips, but he isn’t hurting him, not even a little.

Loud moans unravel out of his mouth, moans he doesn’t have control over, and all he can manage to say, over and over again “Oh my God, oh my god, Louis”.

Then Harry’s fingers are curling, and his toes may be too, he isn’t sure, his eyes clench shut as the orgasm shoots through his body and knocks the breath out of him. Soon after, he feels Louis come to a slow stop, and his body jerks back with a loud groan.

Louis lifts Harry’s hips with him as he carefully slides himself out of the younger boy, and he blindly tosses the condom in the waste bin by the bed, still riding solely on the high of his climax. Their heaving breaths are the only noise filling the room, and Louis moves to gather Harry into his arms, hauling him close to his chest. Absently, his foot moves to kick Harry's cum covered pillows off the bed. 

At first there’s nothing to be said as they lay still together. Burying his head against Louis’ chest, Harry mumbles, “I love you so fucking much, Louis.”

“And I love you.” Louis retorts, kissing Harry’s forehead as he cards his fingers through the absolutely unruly mane that is Harry’s hair.

Harry draws his chin up, pressing it against Louis’ torso as he searches for his eyes, “Thank you, so much.”

“For?” Louis asks, not believing for a second that Harry would dare thank him for having sex with him.

“Never giving up on me, and sticking with me through all the shit I put you through. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know, thank you.” he says.

And Louis doesn’t say another word concerning the subject, instead nods, and continues to run his fingers through Harry’s curls. He presses another kiss to Harry’s scalp, thinking about what he wants to say next. He wants to ask Harry, no tell him, but he’s trying to think of the right words.

“I want you to move in with me.” he blurts out.

Harry’s caught off guard, judging by the bewilderment that crosses his hazy green eyes. “You...what?”

“I want us to live together, and if you don’t want to live here, we can find a new place, closer to your sister if that’s what you’re worried about,” Louis stops running his hand through Harry’s hair, slowly moving it down his body. His fingers caress the top of his back which makes Harry squirm, and he stops when he feels the risen area of skin, indicating he’s touching Harry’s  back scar. The pads of his fingers rub circles over the puffy area. “And we’ll - we’ll make you a gorgeous art studio, a huge studio, as big as you want, and you won’t have to worry about paying rent another day of your life.”

Harry laughs, actually laughs, though not in a lighthearted way. It’s a heavy, confused chuckle. He jerks away from Louis’ touch, shaking his head as a chant of no’s leaves his mouth. “No, I...I’m sorry, but I can’t accept an offer like that, Louis.”

“And why not?” Louis asks, sitting up on his forearms.

Harry rubs his forehead, stressed. The two of them aren’t even remotely bothered about being nude. Now that they’ve seen all of one another, now that two have become one, now that Harry is comfortable with Louis looking at his pudgy abdomen and his love handles and his grotesquely thin legs, it doesn’t matter, none of it matters.

Louis doesn’t understand. “Harry?”

“I don’t want to be dependent on you. I’ve worked my entire life towards independence, and I’m not willing to throw it all away. I am not going to be a grown man who lives under another man’s roof, and lets him dictate my life.” Harry says, voice catching in his throat.

“I wouldn’t ever ask you to give up your independence. Maybe I’m rushing into this, or maybe i’m demanding too much commitment from you, and I don’t mean to, but these last two months have been amazing, being by your side every day has been a dream Harry, an actual dream, and I want to keep the dream alive. I have more opportunity than I know what to do with, and I can use all that opportunity to help you achieve your potential.” He didn’t realize how passionate he felt about any of this until this morning, when he really, seriously looked at Harry’s art. His boyfriend is truly talented, and who would he be to not act on helping Harry share his genius with the world. Those art pieces have never been shown to a community who would appreciate them for what they genuinely are: incredible and unique. “Your work could be in museums. Your work could bring joy to so many, but it won’t, not if you’re worried about trying to make end’s meet, not if you’re stuck in that dingy hole for the rest of your life.”

Tears are brewing in Harry’s eyes as Louis. His tongue laps over his bottom lip before he whispers, “I need you to understand that I’m not property that can be bought and moved as you please.”

“I know, and I understand.” Louis says, tucking a clump of stray hair behind Harry’s ear.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow together. He feels like crying, and he doesn’t know if it’s from how emotional tonight has been or if he’s just finally had enough of being unimportant. “And if we do this I’m going to get a job, or something. I’m not going to freeload.”

Louis won’t argue with that. He’s no one to tell Harry what he can and can’t do. “If that’s what you want, love, and if you decide it isn’t, that’s okay too.” There’s a lot of ‘ifs’ being thrown around, but that’s okay, they don’t have to know specifics as of now. This is all about finding a pace they’re both comfortable with. ‘So, do we have an agreement?”

Harry draws in a shaky breath. “We have an agreement, if…”

There’s more? “If what?” Louis asks, resting his hand on Harry’s cheek. In their relationship, it so happens that Louis is the one always touching Harry, but Harry’s been getting better at not letting uncertainty hold him back when he wants to kiss Louis, or cuddle with Louis, or even having Louis give him piggy back rides when he doesn’t feel well.

Learning Harry’s cues have also come easier to Louis. When he starts shifting on the couch, he wants to cuddle. When he starts squeezing Louis’ shoulders and rubs his back, he wants to be carried. When he starts biting down on his lip and his muscles begin to tense at touch, he’s in pain or has a round of spasms brewing. 

His spasms are the worst, mostly because there isn’t anything Louis can do to help him, aside from telling him it’ll be okay and riding them out with him. He can’t stand feeling helpless when Harry’s uncomfortable, but he also knows sitting beside him and rubbing his back are two very powerful things even in their simplicity.

Harry had to have his intrathecal pump refilled earlier in the month, and Louis was the one to take him to his appointment. It was an interesting experience from start to finish.

He hadn’t noticed how much Harry’s pump really protruded out of his stomach until the doctor who did the refill procedure brought all of his attention to it. As soon as Harry had his shirt pulled up, and the doctor was prodding at the skin, Louis saw the circular outline of the port. A phantom ache crossed his own stomach as he thought about a device being implanted in his body.

Harry didn’t even flinch when the doctor jabbed a needle through his skin, and into the center of the port, rather he tensed slightly and exhaled deeply. First, came the doctor extracting the old medication, then he inserted a large syringe full of clear liquid. 

They had to stay for half an hour after the procedure to ensure Harry didn’t have a poor reaction to the refill -  he didn’t - and then they were free to go, after Harry scheduled another appointment.

All Louis could think was how brave Harry is. He couldn’t imagine having a needle jabbed into his stomach every two months, partially because he’s afraid of needles, but mostly because he knows if he were in the same situation as Harry he wouldn’t have the motivation to keep his health in check. 

“If I get to decorate our new flat.” Harry says, laying his head once again on Louis’ chest. The side of his head presses to Louis’ sternum, his boyfriend’s heart rhythmically beating against his ear as his head drifts with the rise and fall of Louis’ chest. “Yours is so empty and sad.”

Louis laughs, thankful that they’ve moved away from worry and doubt. He rests his hand on Harry’s upper back, between his collarbones. “And just what are you going to do?”

“It’s going to be so slick. Black, white, and red everything, and we’ll have an open kitchen with a little bar, and we can put red stools there, and we can put an island in the middle of the kitchen, so you can teach me how to cook.” Harry rambles, reaching around Louis for the blankets. The slight breeze from being naked has him shivering ever so slightly. He latches onto the blanket and tugs it over the both of them, although it turns out to be a bit crooked. Louis adjusts it, tucking the majority of it around Harry.

“Don’t forget about your studio. We’re going to find you a huge area, and once we fix your paintings, we’re going to hang all of them up, and we can bring your patched couch from your room and put it there. It’ll be all yours. Anything you want, you can have, I’m serious.”

Smiling, Harry shifts, slowly moving his leg to lay between Louis’, his bare crotch presses against the older brunette’s thigh. “I’m excited.”

Louis’ excited too, excited to live under the same roof as Harry, to see Harry genuinely happy, to become a more permanent part of his life. Living together is a serious, intimate experience, and he’s ready. “I was thinking we could work on finding a place in the next couple weeks. The boys do their last show for the European leg tomorrow night, and I promised I would come back for the North American tour, which starts in a month. Even if I have to go by the time we’re moving in, my mum would be more than willing to help you get settled. Does that sound alright?”

There’s hardly hesitation when Harry says, “I really like your mum. I’m sure we’ll be able to make it work.”  

Exhilarated, Louis feels exhilarated knowing Harry has accepted his family and knowing he's comfortable with where their relationship stands. This relationship is something they can continue to pursue.

“I’m glad.” Louis whispers, and that’s the last thing either of them say. As they lay there, cuddled together, the dark of the night consumes them, and Harry falls asleep in Louis' arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been far too long! Sorry about taking so long to update. Finishing this story is now a top priority of mine again. You guys know the deal. Thanks for kudos, hits, bookmarks, recs, comments, etc. and also make sure to contact me if you'd like to see me write anything in particular. Huge love - E.x


	6. Chapter 6

While Louis returned to tour, Harry wasted no time in consolidating their belongings into one living space. Before Louis had initially left for the North American tour, the two of them scanned through dozens of potential flats. 

They weren’t looking for anything too extravagant, in fact they’re weren’t searching for many specific details. The only must haves were an entry ramp leading into the apartment complex, an elevator, and wide hallways and door frames, all so Harry was comfortable and could easily maneuver himself.

Neither one of them were too concerned with location, though preferably, they wanted a place within reasonable distance to the hospital, in case an emergency occurred, and nearby Gemma’s flat, as Harry’s always been reliant on her.

After two weeks of looking through pamphlets, calling real estate agents, and receiving advice from family members, the pair had finally come across a flat they thoroughly enjoyed. It was a few miles away from the heart of London, and looked to be as sleek as property one would discover in a futuristic world. 

The flat itself consisted of two floors, a black spiral staircase lead the kitchen to a few spare rooms upstairs. While Louis understood that there was no way for Harry to properly use the stairs, the complex had a lift, which with the right pin number, would transport them to the next floor level and from there they could access the luxuries through the correct door. 

The kitchen was large. A fairly sized island was stationed in the center of the monochrome tile, and speckled granite covered the cabinet tops. It was fancy, but it wasn’t  going to appear the same for long. Given Harry had mentioned lowering the counter tops, Louis figured everything would have to be reconstructed, which was completely fine by him.

Living with Harry, he understood, would consist of a lot of adjustment and reconstruction. It didn’t matter to him, at all, in fact he was intrigued to watch Harry jot down a list of adaptations he needed.

The list included lower cabinets, motion censored faucets, replacing door knobs with door handles, and of course, which Harry hated discussing, modifications to the bathrooms. He suggested a walk in tub with a seat built into the wall, and while the conversation caused his cheeks to tint pink, Louis reassured him it was a good idea. 

Among all the treasures in the flat, one of Louis’ favorites was the balcony overlooking a few bars and businesses. It was large enough to host a small social gathering, a few smokes with some of his friends most likely, and it was also, luckily, easy to access, located right off the kitchen, the only barrier being a sliding glass door. 

Most importantly though, Louis managed to stumble across a room, hidden behind one of the many doors in the master bedroom, while Harry was speaking to the real estate agent. Three of the walls were standard wallpapered drywall, but the fourth was made of partial windows. Overlooking local businesses, the room hovered right above a body of water, fountains spewing water into the air, and a bridge made of stone allowing pedestrians to stand right over the small pond.

It was perfect for Harry’s studio. He could see the outcome perfectly in that particular moment. Harry’s paintings would cover the three bare walls, except there would be a tremendous amount of space in comparison to his studio back home, and his easel would stand in the corner of the rooms closest to the windows. He would buy him a huge plush couch, one that would actually be comfortable, one he could actually lay his lanky body across without hanging off of the side. He would finally have a proper studio, and who knew where that would lead his inspiration, considering the gorgeous view his eyes would be met with rather than grey, peeling paint coated walls. 

The flat made them feel at home, and it was only just the beginning. After that day came the process of ceasing the lease on their apartments and moving their belongings. 

Unfortunately, they didn’t even finish packing halfway before Louis had to fly out to New Orleans with the boys for the first concert in America, and he wouldn’t be back for four months. 

It was Louis’ mum, alongside Louis’ two eldest younger sisters, Lottie and  Félicité, who were the biggest help. His own mum and sister would have jumped at the chance had they not been invited to a family reunion for his step-dad’s family, which so happened to be celebrated in Australia. 

While it sounds as though Harry was complaining, he wasn’t. As much as he cherished his mother, she also deeply irked him, and the idea of having her go through his personal belongings and throw her opinion where it certainly didn’t belong, didn’t exactly sound thrilling to him. 

He tried his hardest to be helpful, though there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t as though he was able to move boxes to the moving van, so rather instead he claimed the title as sorter. During this process of sorting through his belongings, he realized a couple things about himself. Most importantly, he seemed to like lavender candles a tad too much, and also the amount of junk he possessed was unreal. 

He’s never seen so many half used art supplies in his life, and he was in art class for eight consecutive years with some of the messiest, unorganized children and adolescents alive.

Among his abundance of misplaced art supplies, there were a few photo albums, clothes with the price tags on them, and empty prescription pill bottle after empty prescription pill bottle. 

It took some time, but after three weeks they had everything cluttered in the front room of the new apartment. From that point on, it was a matter of organizing everything, purchasing furniture and accessories Louis would hopefully like, and hiring in professionals to make the accommodations deemed absolutely necessary.

It may have been a lot of work, but as Harry currently sits at the breakfast counter, sipping on a steaming mug of hot chocolate, which Jay made special for him and the girls, he’s able to appreciate the finished product. 

The breakfast counter is the first highlight of the flat. As soon as one enters through the front door, their eyes should immediately catch the smooth black counter top and the red swivel stools accompanying it. 

Although it’s hard to miss the two black velvet couches and plush red pillows centered on their cushions in the living space. They face towards the large flat-screen television previously hung on the wall in Louis’ old apartment, one positioned forward and the other sideways. On the wall behind the couch directly across from the television are Louis’ many awards - his record accomplishments, Brits, American Music Awards, People’s Choice Awards, and even his Grammy - exhibited in a glass display case. 

“You did an amazing job lovely.” Jay compliments, seating herself on the empty stool beside him. She takes a sip of hot chocolate before continuing, “I just know Louis is going to love it. You know, I’ve been urging him for ages to get a place he can call home, and I think you’ve done just that for him.” 

A smile battles to cross Harry’s lip, and it wins, forcing him to show off his pearly whites. “I shouldn’t take all the credit for it. Thank you, all of you, so much for helping me, I mean us, move. I wouldn’t been able to do it by myself.” 

Lottie clamps a manicured hand down on his shoulder, forcing the warm liquid in his mug to swish against the rim ever so slightly. “Anything for you, Harry, you know that.” 

It’s hard for Harry to process these very special people being new elements to his life. A few months ago, he was scared to death to meet them, and now they’re his best friends. Enjoying others company and feeling as though he really does have a steady grip on his life are unfamiliar concepts to him, but finally having the opportunity to settle has aided him greatly.

“What time are people starting to come?”  Félicité asks, leaning against the counter top, as she checks the time on her phone. “It’s quarter after three right now.” 

Louis’ flight from South America is due to arrive in a few hours, and Harry made the executive decision of throwing a party to celebrate his return to England as well as their new home. Though Harry doesn’t like crowded places or new people, he wants Louis to have a good time, so he had Jay get into contact with all of his friends and relatives. Also due to attend are Harry’s family because he supposes it’s not a truly a party unless Gemma makes a drunken fool of herself within the first hour. 

The lads - Niall, Liam, and Zayn - know about the party, but were told to deliberately keep it a secret. Of course, Harry was worried they would accidentally mention it, but upon being offered an exclusive area to smoke and drink as well as the idea of having time to relax, they promised to not say a word.

“Really?” Harry asks, surprised. “Uh, well I think we told people to start coming at five since Lou’s flight gets in at 4:30.”

Lottie nearly gasps as she double checks the time on her phone. “Oh my God, I should have started getting ready an hour ago! I gotta run, but I’ll be back before five, I promise.” Her keys jingle as she slides her purse off the counter and turns toward her mum and younger sister. “Well, aren’t you coming? We’ve gotta be quick if we’re gonna make it back on time and still look good.” 

Before either of them has a chance to answer, Lottie disappears out the front door. “Well, I’ll be in the car, I guess.” Félicité huffs, following less frantically behind her sister.

Jay shakes her head with a lighthearted chuckle. “I believe that’s my cue to go. Will you be okay in this big flat all by yourself?” she asks, clearing the girl’s forgotten mugs and her own from the counter and setting them in the sink. Giving them a quick rinse with warm water and dish soap, she sets them on the other side of the sink to dry.

“I’ll be just fine, thank you.” Harry offers a weary smile, eyes following Jay as she rounds the counter and lays her palm against his bicep. “See you later Jay. Careful driving to the hotel.” 

She smiles, squeezing his arm before departing the flat. Harry sits for a few moments, then comes to the realization that this is his first time alone in his home. At first, he feels a bit anxious, but upon thinking, he understands he is now a free man. He no longer owes anyone anything. He doesn't have to stress to keep himself afloat, and the weight of the whole situation finally slides down his back like water off a duck’s back, with ease and without a second thought. 

Louis helps to support him now, and he’s free to do what he wishes with his life. If he wants to be the next Andy Warhol, he can do it. If he wants to work another service job, he can do it. If he wants to lie on the balcony and watch the stars every night, he can do it. With Louis behind him he can do whatever it is he wants. He’s finally free from the taut restrictions of society and their false beliefs towards him, someone fighting to pass the boundaries of disability. 

He can do anything. 

 

 

 

 

Louis walks through the front door twenty two minutes after five - yes, Harry has it calculated down to the very minute. As soon as he steps foot inside, everyone turns, greeting him with a loud shout of either “hi” or “surprise”.

There aren’t traditional decorations, rather Harry has a buffet of food laid out on the breakfast bar, along with dozens of different wines and champagnes. Almost everyone has a wine glass in hand as well as a plate of food somewhere in their general vicinity. 

He made sure to include all of Louis’ favorites. Salami trays with Gouda cheese specially added, gourmet chocolate chip cookies, his mum’s homemade chocolate coated pretzel rods, liquor filled chocolate, and expensive white wine among other delicacies. 

Louis searches the large crowd of people, smiling when he recognizes the familiar faces of his friends back home, his family, his bandmates, and most importantly, his boyfriend. He walks through the throngs of people nearest to his heart, grinning larger than Harry has even see him, and greets each and every one of them with a hug or kiss on the cheek. 

“This was a good idea.” Zayn says, leaning on the counter beside Harry. He’s drinking out of a glass filled to the brim with a red drink, most likely a wine. “It’s nice to have the chance to wind down. You want a sip?” he asks, thrusting the glass towards Harry.

Harry shakes his head. “No thanks.” 

Niall nonchalantly walks past them with an attractive brunette woman on his arm. Harry guesses she’s a cousin, or maybe an old friend, of Louis’. 

Every time Harry’s around the Irishman, he always has a new girl on his arm. Maybe it’s his charisma, but most likely, it’s his fame and fortune, though he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You’re better to say nothing at all.” Liam appears out of nowhere, now standing beside Zayn, pouring more alcohol into his half full glass. “That boy sleeps with anything that moves, and I do mean anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I wanna know.” Harry admits, honestly. 

Zayn stifles a laugh. “I reckon you’re right.” 

It’s almost too good to be true. He’s never been accepted as one of the guys when casual conversation among a group of men comes into play.  Considering months ago, when he first met Louis, the lads hadn’t really cared for him, it’s strange for them to engage in discussion with him. 

He wonders if it’s the alcohol talking or if they’ve genuinely started to accept the fact he’s dating Louis and plans to be dating him for a long time. Part of him  _ knows _ it’s the wine aiding this interaction, but another part secretly hopes they’re doing this because they want to. 

He’s never had close friends before. This could be the start of something new and beautiful. 

“Tour was good then?” he asks, attempting to keep the conversation flowing. 

Liam takes a seat in one of the empty bar seats beside Harry. “Mate, it was wicked. I genuinely did not want it to end. If you were there, you would have felt exactly the same, I guarantee.” 

Once Liam starts talking about tour, he doesn’t stop. Again, Harry doesn’t know if it’s the alcohol talking or if Liam likes to talk a lot about himself. 

Zayn finishes two more glasses of wine by the time Liam finishes retelling the story of a crazed fan at the Miami concert, and by that time, Louis has finally made him way over to them. 

“Thank you Liam for that terribly long story.” He quips, touching his bandmate's shoulder. “I say we make a new game, every time Liam says the word brilliant in one of his stories, everyone takes a shot.”

Zayn laughs. 

“Now if you lads will excuse us, I’d like to spend some time with my boyfriend.” Neither of them moves at first, so he clears his throat, an indication for them to walk away. 

Once they’ve disappeared, only Harry and Louis are left at the bar. “I missed you so much.” Harry blurts, wrapping his arms around Louis without a second thought.

“I missed you too, love.” he whispers, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. He shuts his eyes, inhaling the scent of Harry’s coconut shampoo. His curls rub against Louis’ face, tickling his cheek. “I love what you've done with the place, it’s perfect. And this party, I wasn't expecting the party, thank you so much.” He pulls away from the younger boy, keeping a firm grip on both of his shoulders as their eyes lock. “How the hell did I spend four fuckin' months away from you? I must be insane.” 

Hues of pink tint Harry’s cheeks. “It was a very, very _long_ four months, but now you have all the time in the world to catch me up.” 

The night ends in conversation led by Louis. Speaking of a late night in Detroit, he tells the story of meeting two fans at a grocery store. They hadn't been able to attend the concert, but Louis was able to change their feelings of disappointment within mere seconds.

It’s those types of stories which make Harry smile. Louis has more influence on the world than he’ll ever realize, and even the smallest of deeds done on his behalf, benefit someone.

Harry wishes to do that one day; change someone's life. 

 

 

 

 

Later that night, after most of the guests have dispersed, Louis and Harry cuddle on the couch. The only people left in the house, aside from themselves, are Anne, who’s currently having a drink outside, Niall, who’s disappeared somewhere with the mystery brunette from earlier, and Gemma, who was too drunk to function a whopping forty five minutes into the festivities - a new personal record for her - vanished to the master bedroom.

Currently, they’re lying on the couch, watching Big Brother reruns, Harry’s head lays against his shoulder, his eyes intently observing the fight happening between two of the housemates. “I don’t like that blonde, she’s nothing but trouble, mark my words.” Louis points towards one of the girls who isn’t directly involved in the current argument happening for the viewer's entertainment, rather she appears to be plotting a devious scheme. He can tell by the smirk painted on her sharp facial features. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, instead adjusts his position, yet again, for what might be the sixth time in the last two minutes. This time his head rests against the back of the couch, so he isn’t even remotely touching Louis. His breathing sounds labored, instantly causing a wave of concern to come over Louis. 

Sure, Harry often wheezes or struggles to catch his breath, but that's usually because he's exerted himself on his crutches, not by shifting a few times whilst laying down on the couch. It's concerning to hear him inhale so sharply. 

So, the older boy frowns at his boyfriend's fidgeting while asking, “What, can’t get comfortable? You wanna lay your head on my lap love?” 

Harry shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the television. The screams exchanged between the two ladies have intensified, though Harry is struggling to understand them over the sound of his own heartbeat. He’s shifted positions at least two more times since Louis initially questioned him on the oddly placed behavior, and while Louis can tell something isn’t quite right, he doesn’t know how many questions he’s obligated to ask.

“You feeling okay? Is it your back?” he asks, trying to get a decent glance at his boyfriend’s expression. Harry turns his face to the side as if making sure Louis is unable look at him. 

Harry, again, shakes his head. His Adam’s apple bobs not once, but twice, with two thick swallows. “No, just wanna watch the show.” he whispers.

As Harry wishes, Louis returns his focus to the television, though his mind is anything but focused, drifting only to wonder why his boyfriend has had such a sharp shift in emotion and exterior appearance. 

It isn’t long before Harry budges once more. Though this time, a stifled noise leaves him, something pitched between a grunt and a cry. Of course, Harry being Harry, the stubborn man he is, tries to pass it off as a clearing of his throat, so Louis doesn’t push him.

Eventually, the peculiar behavior grows to a point where Louis has no choice but to be concerned and become involved. His boyfriend hasn’t stopped shifting, and his breathing has become more shallow. 

Louis peers over at him, staring on in complete confusion. A thick layer of sweat has since covered his face since Louis last had a good look at him. He doesn't know what's wrong, but whatever it is, isn't good. 

He doesn’t know that he’s moved so fast ever in his life, instantly sliding off the couch and kneeling down in front of Harry. He places on hand on Harry's thigh and the other on one of his kneecaps, "What's the matter love? Come on now, you’ve got to talk to me."    


Harry shakes his head. "Can you..." he tenses under Louis' touch, neck jerking slightly, and tries his hardest to continue. "I want..." his voice catches in his throat, leaving him unable to continue.    
  
"Harry?" Louis asks, his eyebrows creasing, and leans forward to get a better look at Harry. His worry has spiked. “What do you want babes?”   
  
Harry shuts his eyes, sounding pained as though trying to breathe through a contracting throat, "Mum."   
  
"You want your mum?" Louis asks, concerned, keeping his eyes on his suffering boyfriend. "You want me to grab her for you?" 

“Y...yes.” Harry throws his head back against the couch with a choked attempt to inhale.

Louis nods. “I’ll get her for you baby. Just relax for me, okay? It’ll be alright. I'll be back in one second” he squeezes Harry’s thigh, then hurriedly stands, searching for Anne.   


He finds her standing outside on the balcony, having a drink out of a wine glass, most likely filled with champagne. She’s observing the city below them when he chooses to knock on the glass. Undoubtedly she’s startled, jerking her head around to meet his eyes. “Oh God!” she blurts out, hand flying to hold her chest as Louis steps into the chilly night. “You scared me.”    
  
Louis doesn’t know where exactly to start, so the words fall out of his mouth before he’s able to process them. “Harry - he’s, something's wrong with him, and he, he told me to come get you. I don’t know what happened and I - I really don't know what's wrong."   


Usually, he manages to sound poised, but he's  _ scared, _  unsure of what’s happening to his boyfriend. 

Anne doesn't seem to notice his incoherence with words, rather it’s as if his words trigger something in her. He isn't quite sure what has her setting her champagne down and flocking to Harry in a matter of seconds. Still,  he feels as though he has no choice but to follow her, keeping a safe distance behind her as the two of them walk back into the living space.    
  
He stands closer to the kitchen as Anne approaches Harry starkly. "What's the matter, honey?" she asks, sitting beside him. "How are you feeling?" she places her hand on his shoulder, gently massaging the area.

Harry shrugs his shoulders, touching his face repeatedly, almost as if he’s unable to control himself from doing so.

“Love?” Anne presses with her voice, leaning in a bit closer to her son. “You have to try for me here. What doesn't feel right? Is it your head?”

Louis crosses his arms over his chest, leaning into the wall as he observes the situation. He doesn't know what to do.    
Finally, Harry speaks to her, after some more prodding. Though it comes out parched, "It's...really fuzzy, right, um, right here," he says, pushing on the skin between his eyebrows. "Can't really see that well." he mumbles, shutting his eyes once more.    
  
Anne swallows, looking exceedingly nervous, "Is it your head that hurts baby?" she asks, brushing a few pieces of hair out of his face. Harry nods, past the point of speaking, as Anne touches his forehead with the back of her hand. “What do you want me to do, sweetheart?”

"Anne?" Louis asks, narrowing his eyes at the two of them. He takes a step closer, making his presence known to the office worker and his boyfriend. “What's going on? Is he okay?” 

Harry's eyes roll in a fight against were unconsciousness. One of the saddest parts of it all is the fact Louis knows something is seriously wrong because he's never this gentle towards his mum. He always has something crude to say to her, but in this moment, he can't find the strength to say much of anything, let alone something mean.

She doesn't answer, which prompts his anxiety to intensify, “Anne? Please, what's going on?”   


Anne shakes her head. "He’s having a seizure.”    


"A seizure?" Louis chokes. "I didn't -"

How does one even process information like this? His fucking boyfriend is having a seizure. He didn't even know he had them. Fuck, he's never even seen a seizure, and he certainly doesn't want to, especially when Harry is the person having it.

“Not right now Louis, please." Anne shushes him, tending to Harry, and tries to help him lay down on the couch.

"Do you - I don’t - Is there anything I can do?" Louis asks, feeling tiny pricks on his skin induced by nerves.    
  
Harry tries to brace himself on his mum, using her forearms as a means of balance, but Louis can see the lack of strength his body is producing. He looks weak, so weak Louis can hardly stand it. 

Because Harry isn't a weak man, in fact he may just be the strongest Louis’ ever come to known, and watching him suffer is heartbreaking. 

Harry tries to talk, though his speech is far more slurred than usual. He doesn't sound remotely coherent.

“Harry, no.” Louis whispers, tears coming to his eyes.

Why the fuck is he crying?

He turns his head, closing his eyes and drawing in a sharp breath. He can't have his emotion stand in the way of the situation becoming resolved. 

While Louis tries to collect himself, Anne helps Harry lay down on the sofa, gently caressing his arm as his body visibly clenches, then releases in oddly timed intervals. “It’ll be alright, baby boy, just hold on for me.”

Louis bites down on his bottom lip, unsure of what actions to take. There isn't anything he can do, aside from providing comfort to Anne, and even after realizing this, his feet are practically planted into the carpeting. 

When the convulsions begin, Louis has to physically turn himself around, choking on a cry. They are one of the worst things he has ever been around to see.

Every part of his body spasms, much how his legs do sometimes, but they're so much more severe. Horrendous whimpers leave him as his jaw contracts and his fingers and toes curl. Louis wants to help him, he does, but he doesn't know how. 

Realistically, all he can do is stay out of the way. He eventually regains the courage to turn around, though wishing he hadn’t as soon as his eyes land on Harry’s pale complexion and trembling frame. 

Neither he or Anne says a single word to the other. Anne kneels beside the couch, glancing at her watch every few seconds. She refrains from touching Harry at all while keeping a close eye on his jerky movements.

Louis spends these few moments to reflect on his lack of knowledge. He didn't even know Harry had seizures until this very moment. Had the younger lad mentioned before? Perhaps Louis wasn't paying attention, or he didn't grasp the severity of the situation, or something else blocked his understanding. Certainly, Harry would tell him this, right?

"It's alright baby." Anne whispers to Harry, pulling Louis from his thoughts. "The worst part is almost over."   
  
Despite his stomach churning, Louis manages to convince himself to approach them, kneeling down beside the couch. "You can't touch him while he's seizing." Anne rushes to say, and so Louis nods, keeping his hands on his lap as he watches Harry spasm intensely before his very own eyes.    
  
It's a minute or so later that Harry starts to calm down from the jerky movements and strained cries. He doesn't wake up right away, though Louis supposes it’s okay because he doesn't have to watch him convulse uncontrollably any longer. 

Anne touches his cheek, caressing his cheek with the pad of her thumb. "Will you grab the waste bin from the kitchen?" she asks, though it sounds a bit more like a demand.

He doesn't hesitate, rushing to grab the bin, and when he returns, sets it down beside the couch. "Is he gonna be alright?"

Anne sighs, "This isn't the first time this has happened.”

He supposes Harry’s going to need time to recuperate because as soon as he comes to and moves in the slightest, he's vomiting, and thankfully, Anne is able to guide him to the bin.

Her hand holds a protective position on his back, rubbing circles as he pukes everything in his stomach up. 

After he finishes, the back of his hand misses a few times before he finally finds his mouth to wipe away the residue. Louis watches him furrow his eyebrows when he tries to speak, but he’s unable to form correct words.

"What was that poppet?" Anne asks, patiently, she has her arm wrapped around his back, thus propping him up. 

"Want 'im." he mumbles, weakly rubbing his face. 

Louis doesn't comprehend what he's said, neither has Anne. "What do you want love?" she asks.   
  
Harry looks at Louis, despite his inability hold his head up right, and tries to point, but his hands are shaking too harshly to do anything other than remain clenched.  Louis understands then, and changes his position so he's kneeling beside him, grazing his thighs. "I'm right here, lovely, but I need you to relax for me, so we can help you feel better."    
  
Harry incoherently mumbles a phrase, continually staring at Louis. He reaches out to touch his face, so Louis takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, squeezing to show affirmation. “I’m right here.” he repeats, meeting his eyes. 

It takes a few moments of coaxing to convince Harry to lay back down, but in the end, he does in his hazy state of mind. Louis walks away for a moment, leaving Harry unsettled, and returns, bearing a throw blanket. He drapes it over the younger boys body and presses a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve got to get some rest for me, love.” 

Realizing Harry won’t fall asleep if he goes away, he has a seat beside the couch, taking Harry’s hand in his and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

Harry fights consciousness, blinking his eyes as he watches Louis, though the battle is lost once his eyes slip shut and his breathing evens out.

Anne sits on the opposite couch, silent for the longest time before finally saying, “I think we need to talk about this.”   


“You think so?” Louis scoffs, sarcastic. 

“ _Louis_.” Anne sighs.

"Do you want to explain why he never told me he was an epileptic?" Louis asks, bitterly, shaking his head. "That's an important subject, Anne, and it bothers me that neither of you mentioned it."   
  
"Sweetheart, he's not an epileptic. He hasn't had a fit in a long time, unfortunately, it's just something that comes with his CP. They're a very rare, I mean compared to what they use to be.”   
  
Louis rubs his palm over his face. "It doesn't matter if they're rare if not. What was I supposed to do if he had a fit in front of me? I have no background on how to handle a seizure, hell, I didn’t even know he had seizures. He could've died had you not been here, and I would never be able to forgive myself." 

“You’re right, and I’m really sorry, I hope this doesn’t affect your relationship. I guess we assumed they weren’t going to happen anymore.”

“Well, I need you guys to do me a favor and not assume things about his health. If Harry and I are going to do this and live together, I need complete honesty from here on out.” Louis looks to Harry and exhales deeply. “Can you do that for me?”

Anne doesn’t hesitate. “Of course, anything you want to know, I’ll answer.”

“And if anything changes with his health?”

“You’ll be the first to know, love, I promise.” A slight pause occurs. “I want you to know that Harry doesn’t mean to keep you out of the loop. It’s just - this is the first time he’s been in a serious relationship, it’s been hard for him.”

Louis thinks about it for a moment. “And I understand that, believe me I do, but it’s double-sided Anne. It's hard for me to keep up if he isn’t telling me the full extent of his disability.”

Judging by the thoughtful look she gives him, something close to reflecting an “aha” moment, he knows she understands. 

It isn’t long after their conversation, Louis finds himself falling asleep, still hand in hand with Harry. He wakes in the early hours of the morning due to Harry’s hand slipping out of his grasp and shifting on the couch behind him.

He guesses it’s only six or so in the morning as it’s still grim and dark outside, but seems to slowly become lighter. A few minutes pass before he comes to his senses and recalls the situation from the night before.

“Morning love, how are you feeling?” he asks, moving to sit at the end of the couch beside Harry’s feet. He grabs one of his ankles, clutching the slim circumference of it in his palm.

“Bit fuzzy.” Harry croaks, swallowing harsh. “Doesn't feel like I’ll ever be able to think straight again.” 

Louis weakly smiles. “Give it some time, love. You're already sounding better than you did last night. Not as slurred.” He runs his thumb along the seam of Harry’s sweatpants on the inner side of his ankle. 

“‘m sorry, Lou. I should have told you.” Harry whispers, lethargically eyeing his boyfriend. 

“Yes,” Louis agrees, affirmatively nodding, “you should have, but it’s okay. I'm just happy you're alright. Do you need anything? Some water? Another blanket?” 

“A cuddle?” Harry suggests, raising his eyebrows. 

Louis laughs. “Not what I meant, but okay.” After peeling the blanket off of Harry, he squeezes between the back of the couch and Harry’s body, then drapes his arm around the younger boy's stomach, tugging him closer. Harry’s back touches his front, and his chin rests in the crook of Harry's neck. 

“My mum talked to you, didn't she?” Harry asks, staring ahead at the television. The sound is muted, but the Big Brother reruns are still playing, one after the other. “What did she say?” There’s a certain level of discomfort in his tone, Harry can't say he blames him, after all he would personally hate for his mum to go behind his back and speak of his medical history or personal issues. 

“Nothing, really. Said you have seizures as a side effect of your CP, and they don't happen often.” Louis explains.

Harry doesn't say anything for a few moments. “It's been a few years since my last big one. I was at University the, uh, the last time.”

He sounds like he wants to talk about it. Maybe get it off his chest. Perhaps no one's ever heard the full story. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Louis asks.

There’s a split moment where Louis isn't sure what Harry is going to do. He begins to shift, accidentally jabbing Louis in the stomach during his efforts, before completely switching the side he lays on, now facing Louis. The red pillow beneath them props both their heads up. 

“It was nothing, or I guess it was something. I reckon it was the reason I got bad again, or what my mom considers to be bad again. There was a short time where she wasn't harping on me to go see my therapist, but after I, you know, had an episode, everything seemed to get worse. I was doing okay, and don’t get me wrong, I’m still doing okay, but it was like that time of my life, my time in uni, was the best, everything was coming together for me.” Harry tells him in a heartfelt monologue. “And then I went home for winter break, caught a bit of a cold, but everything was okay.”

Louis doesn't like the sound of any of this. He has a feeling it's going to end in something he really doesn't want to hear. “Okay…”

“But like you know how I am, I get a little sick and it's like the end of the world because my immune system is fucked.” Harry keeps his eyes focused on Louis’ baby blues. “So I come back from break, and get settled in my dorm again, but I was only there for a couple days before my cold got a whole lot worse. Somehow it turned into influenza and the stress on my body caused a seizure.” 

Louis touches his cheek. “I’m sorry baby.” 

“That's not even the worst part. My roommate, who didn't like me much from the start, was having friends over that night and of course they all saw it. I've never been so embarrassed, God, I remember not wanting to go back to school after I was released from the hospital. That's when everything got a lot worse, and it was bad, until I met you.” 

Louis feels both content and saddened with that comment. Years of Harry’s life thrown away by some jerks and a condition he can't help, but saved somehow by a man who wanted a greasy burger one day. It's quite a story. 

“It was hard, Louis. I graduated with a degree I’d never do anything with, I was stuck at a dead end job, I had no friends, my artwork was starting to become something I loathed, but now, I feel like I have everything, thanks to you.” Harry smiles, tears brimming his eyes, this time for good reason. “Thank you.” 

Louis kisses him, sliding his body closer so their chests graze one another’s. He withdraws, “You don't have to thank me, love. Remember I’m here because I want to be, I mean, just look at our new beautiful home and my beautiful boyfriend, what more can a guy ask for?” 

“I love you.” Harry whispers, burying his face against Louis’ chest. 

Louis presses his chin to the top of his head. “I love you too.” 

 

 

 

 

Louis finds himself in a draining interview a mere two days later. See, the interviewer is a sweetheart - in fact, she gave them all goodie bags filled with sweets upon their arrival - but her questions are redundant.

He’s answered both the “if you were a superhero, what would your superpower be” and “what’s your favorite part of being in One Direction” questions a million times. But if that sum includes today, he’s now answered them a million and one times.

Of course, the questions don’t become any more intricate. “Which of you has girlfriends, or boyfriends?” she asks, smiling at the four of them.  She really is a cute girl, Louis doesn’t necessarily want to be annoyed with her, but whoever wrote these God awful questions for her needs to be fired immediately. 

He sighs as he raises his hand alongside Liam and Zayn. Niall has the opportunity to sit smugly, smirk braced across his lips. Now, Louis isn’t ignorant, he knows what the interviewer is going to proceed with after a question of that particular nature.

“Oh that's right,” she says, smile still latching onto her tanned complexion. “Zayn, Liam, you're both with models, how exciting. I actually had Gigi on the show the other day, lovely, lovely girl. And Liam, you’re with?”

“Sophia Smith.” he quips, nonchalantly touching the watch Sophia bought him last Christmas. It's diamond encrusted, of course it is, why wouldn't it be? “She just did her first Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show.”

The girl smiles. She looks like her name would be Kristen or maybe Kelly, but despite her introducing herself at the beginning of the session, Louis can't recall what exactly it is. “And you're dating a lad, right?”

“My boyfriend Harry, yeah.” Louis answers, raising an eyebrow when she doesn't automatically ask a follow up question. In fact, she's silent for a few moments, flipping through a stack of bright orange and pink index cards in a complete unorganized manner.

“Ah, there we are,” she claims, victoriously, raising the small orange card in the air. “We have a picture of you and Harry on the screen over here.”

Louis is pleased. While it may seem a bit invasive, it's better than being asked what it's like to be in a relationship with “a man limited by his disability”.  The picture they've chosen to show is the only one Louis’ ever posted on his Instagram of the two of them. As much as he would love to broadcast Harry to the world it isn't fair to the younger lad. He doesn't want the attention, completely understandable, and so they've kept their relationship as concealed as possible. 

It's a black and white photo taken from waist up. Harry sits on Louis’ lap, leaning back against his older boyfriend’s chest, and keeps his face partially buried against Louis’ neck, in the midst of a laugh. Louis has his arms wrapped tightly around torso, head laying against Harry’s, and he too, is laughing.

The hardest part of posting that particular photo was thinking of a caption. In the end, he settled for lyrics to his favorite song on his band’s new album, which he wrote in dedication to a conversation he had one night with Harry. Infinity, he titled the song on the album, and the caption for their picture read,  _ How many nights does it take to count the stars? _

A fond smile can't help but cross Louis’ lips, and his eyes scroll down to focus on his lap in pure modesty.

Harry’s on set today, sat backstage with some stagehands, and a lot of chocolate cookies and Hershey chocolate bars. He claimed he had never been to any kind of professional broadcasting studio, and wanted to experience it for what it was, and what better way to do this then watch his superstar boyfriend be interviewed.

“Louis? Anything you’d like to say?” The woman prompts.

“He’s a wonderful human being and I'm so glad to be in love with him” are the only words he wants to say, and they're strong, significant, everything words should be.

“How sweet. I heard the two of you finally moved in together. Congratulations, Louis.”

And that's it, that’s all she has to say. The conversation ends there and she starts on a new subject. 

Liam nudges his side, grinning madly at him. In this moment, he realizes that it doesn’t matter what others believe, he still has some on his side, backing and supporting his relationship.  None of it matters. The tormenting online, comments reading about how wrong it is to be gay and how he's an ableist for not properly supporting a person with disability, do not matter.

Looking at the photo they've left displayed on the screen of himself and Harry has him finally understanding any struggle he goes through can be resolved by his imperfect smile. The lopsided curve of his mouth is an absolute reward. 

The interview finishes after questions of upcoming plans, tours, and albums are answered. He goes backstage, finding Harry sat on one of the couches in a spare room and watching the live broadcast. “What did you think?” he asks. 

“I liked it a lot, maybe a bit more than I should have when they mentioned us.” Harry admits, cheeks flushing to a pastel pink. “And for the record…”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, unexpectedly. 

“You are the most amazing person I have ever laid eyes on.” Harry smiles, his lopsided smile, and Louis’ heart skips a beat at the sight. He loves his smile so much. 

They share a kiss, then Louis takes a seat beside him. “Seriously though, I’m glad you liked the interview process. One of us had to enjoy it for the other.” 

Harry laughs. “I take it you’re sick of the same questions.” 

“Yes,” Louis stresses the single syllable, slouching against the back of the couch. “If the world doesn’t know I want to time travel by now, then they’ll never understand.” 

“Time travel.” Harry scoffs.

Louis frowns at his boyfriend’s tone. “What? Is there something wrong with time travel?”

“I just think there’s better options out there.” Harry shrugs, glancing over at his boyfriend. He can’t help but snicker at the unsatisfied look that’s crossed his face.

“Like what exactly?”

“Shape-shifting.” Harry declares without hesitation.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “And just what would you shift into?”

“That’s the beauty of it. The possibilities would be endless.” Harry explains, locking his eyes on Louis’. “I could be you so you didn’t have to go through shitty interviews. I could be an eagle, free to soar and do as I want. And for days I feel pain I would shift into a naked mole rat, they don’t feel much of it. I could be whatever the fuck I wanted, and no one could stop me.” 

Trying to make sense of what exactly Harry is saying, Louis manages to say only one thing, “I’m really grateful you aren’t a naked mole rat.” 

Harry chuckles. “I reckon I am too.” 

Louis lays his head on Harry’s shoulder. “And I’m even more glad that you aren’t a shape shifter. You’re my Harry, and I wouldn’t change you, or want you to change, for the world.” 

And yeah, Harry is most definitely touched by that statement. 

 

 

 

 

Louis finds living together proves to be prosperous. He hadn’t realized the amount of happy he’s capable of feeling, and residing under the same roof as Harry, is the thing he needed to achieve it.

On occasion, they argue, and on occasion, Harry feels ill, but they've managed to make it work. When they argue, it's usually over little things, and anyways, a couple months of living together covers most of the big arguments.  

As for Harry becoming ill, though it hasn’t happened often, Louis has become good at moving quickly, when it comes to leaving a location and popping up at home at the first sign of trouble. 

Sometimes he can’t leave at the drop of a dime. On those days, it's usually Gemma who checks on him, since she and her flatmates live about two miles down the road. 

Fortunately, he’s only suffered a cold, although it lasted about two weeks. Louis has never felt worry for such a long period of time, especially since his travels extended to New York City for three of those days. 

It's easy for a cold to turn into influenza, or worse, pneumonia as Harry’s immune system isn't strong enough to fight off most pathogens. Alarmed is a good word for the emotion Louis felt during those two weeks. 

Perhaps he wouldn't worry as much if Harry wasn't so stubborn. Harry chooses to brush a lot of things off, still, even after knowing Louis for over year, and sickness is one of those things he likes to ignore. 

When he had come home from New York, Harry’s cough sounded like thunder, roaring throughout the flat, and it took everything in him not to rush over to A & E. He heeded Harry’s plea of allowing a few days to pass then make a decision, and thankfully, it had sounded less thick and painful. 

At least Harry keeps him on his toes. 

In the last few months, Louis’ favorite moment is definitely the surprise he’s been keeping in store for Harry all weekend while the younger lad spent it with his sister. 

His anxiety has been eating him alive for two days, uncertain whether Harry would like it or not, but now it’s the morning of the big day, and he has no choice but to share it. 

Gemma follows Harry into the flat around ten in the morning, automatically leaving the younger boy suspicious. In fact, he uses his crutches to turn himself around. “You didn’t have to walk me in.” he says.

“I know.” 

He looks to the door as if telling her to leave. She doesn’t get the hint, so he clears his throat, “You can go home now, I’m all settled in.” 

Instead of doing as he asks, she smiles at him, standing stationary. 

“I don’t know what you’re up to but - “

He’s interrupted by a voice he knows well. Upon looking away from Gemma he sees Louis emerge from the hallway. “How was your weekend babe? Tell me you stayed out of trouble.” 

“Don’t I always?” Harry kids, cocky, and staggers closer to Louis. As the space between them lessens, Harry notices splotches of paint decorating Louis’ hands. “What’s that?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Hm?” 

“The paint.” Harry further explains. Louis still appears to be confused. “On your hands. Were you painting something?”

“About that…” Louis gives the back of his neck an awkward rub. “I hope you don’t mind, but I repainted the master bedroom.” 

Harry immediately feels his shoulders slump before he otherwise understands the emotion he is feeling is indeed disappointment. “But I liked the violet.” he whispers. 

“Sorry.” Louis shrugs as if it doesn’t even  _ matter _ . “But I think you’ll like the new color, come have a look.” He glances behind Harry, at Gemma, and nonchalantly winks. It would have been foolish to keep it a secret from her as what would he have used as an excuse to get her to keep Harry out of the flat for a weekend.

Harry isn't enthusiastic about Louis’ request. His shoulders slump as he readjusts his grip on his handles. Louis walks in front of him, leading both him and his sister down the hall. 

They make it to the master bedroom, and upon walking inside, Harry notices no change to the walls. “Louis, I don't understand.” 

“Next room, love.” he encourages, walking to the door leading to the to spare room. He looks to Harry, but behind him he catches Gemma pulling her phone out, smiling back at him. She told him she was going to film the entire thing when they spoke earlier this morning. “I think you'll like it a lot.”  

He opens the door, and takes a step into the room, waiting for Harry to follow. 

As soon as he’s stood in the doorway, both Harry’s mouth and his grip on his crutches drop in astonishment. Louis is quick to grip around his waist just as his legs go slack beneath him, grunting out the words, “Babe, you alright?” 

“I don’t...you?” Harry asks, trying to form the words as he leans the weight of his body against Louis. Glistening, his eyes are glistening. “You did this?” 

“What, you’re so surprised that you’ve gone weak in the knees? Come on, lover boy, let’s have a look around.” He doesn’t suggest Harry use his crutches, instead he becomes his support, tightly craning his arm around the small of his back. 

It takes him a few tries - and a bit of leg positioning from Gemma - but eventually Harry gets his feet flat on the ground, so his ankles aren’t rolling and his legs are as straight as they can be. The duo take it slow, Louis forming to Harry’s pace, step by step. His legs buckle a few times, but Louis doesn’t say a word, rather helps him realign his footing each and every time.

After all, Harry deserves to observe this as he wishes. 

It’s beautiful. The walls are a subtle yellow - chosen special by Louis once he conducted proper research on the psychology of colors - to represent optimism and creativity. A decal of Harry’s favorite quote resides on one of the three walls: 

_ I wish I had the talent to paint the way I feel about you, for my words always feel inadequate. I imagine using red for your passion and pale blue for your kindness; forest green to reflect the depth of your empathy and bright yellow for your unflagging optimism. And still I wonder: can even an artist’s palette capture the full range of what you mean to me? _

On free spaces of the walls, and even on the ceiling are Harry’s various paintings, most repaired with precision, and, well a lot clear tape. A couch, Harry’s patchy couch from his old flat, is pushed against one of the walls, along with a desk and chair, so Harry can also work sitting down. 

Louis’ favorite, though, is the easel surrounded by piles of blank canvases. But that isn’t the best part .

In front of the easel are the two parallel metal railings built into the floor, enough space in between for Harry to stand. “What’s that?” Harry points to them. 

“I know you like to stand without aids when you paint, and I don’t want to worry if I leave you alone. This way, you’ll be able to hold on when you paint and you can lean your crutches leaning against them, so you don’t have to bend down for them when you finish. What do you think?”

Harry’s line of sight drops to focus on the clean carpeting, though it won’t stay spotless for long. 

“Is it alright?” Louis presses, worried Harry loathes it. 

Harry swallows, thick. “It’s...wonderful.” Before long, he’s crying, and soon there isn’t a dry eye between the three of them. “Thank you, thank you so much.” he whispers. 

Louis pulls him against his chest, holding him steady. “Of course, baby, of course.” he whispers into his ear. 

“I actually...I wanna show you something, can I?” Harry asks. 

“You wanna show  _ me _ something? Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Yes,” Harry wipes at his eyes, sniffling. He’s happy to be crying over something good, something that isn’t going to ever harm him. “Gems, can you hand me my - “

“Already on it.” she says, thrusting his crutches toward them mid-sentence. 

Louis helps him slide one of his arms through a cuff, then he manages the other on his own. “You have to close your eyes though, okay?” 

‘Okay…” His fingertips unwillingly creep towards his face.

Once he’s covering his eyes with his palms, Gemma then convinces him to turn his back to the doorway. “I’m gonna give him a hand, don’t you move, Tomlinson.”

Nervously tapping his foot on the ground, he can’t help but wonder what this surprise could possibly be. The anticipation starts to twist his stomach into knots after a few minutes when finally he hears Harry’s labored breaths and Gemma’s small words of encouragement. “Can I turn around yet?” 

“One second.” Gemma warns. Louis guesses she’s pulling her phone out to record yet again. “Okay, now you can turn around.” 

Louis uncovers his eyes and turns. His eyes widen at the sight before him. Harry’s holding a large canvas, as best as he can hold something while trying to keep his balance, and on it a portrait of Louis is painted. Except this portrait differs from the rest of Harry’s. Not only one feature of Louis is abstract, rather his entire face is portrayed in an abstract manner. Each element of his face, including his eyes, nose, cheeks, and lips, are painted with a different color and style. 

It’s a large canvas as well. The backdrop behind Louis is a mixed pattern of pink flowers, green vines, and the black lines that emphasize them. “Oh wow.” Louis awes, stepping closer to the work of art. “It’s beautiful Harry.” 

“The flowers, they’re um, they’re chrysanthemums…” Harry blushes. He has trouble pronouncing the name of the flower due to his slurred speech, but no one bats an eye. They know what he’s trying to say. “Did you know they represent the connection between two people?” 

“Oh yeah?” Louis reaches out to touch the painting, grazing the surface with his fingertips. “Well, they’re quite lovely. I love the color.” 

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, trying, and failing, to conceal a smile. “I, uh, I picked pink because it’s such a soothing color, and you, you’re such a nurturing person. Plus, um, I also really like green, and green is like so refreshing and peaceful, they go well together.” 

Listening to the passion in Harry’s tone is much more important to him then the painting, but he’ll never tell him that. It’s strange for Louis to finally see the painting Harry has been working on for so many months. He briefly wonders how many drafts Harry scraped before finally creating this final masterpiece. 

And truly, it is a masterpiece. It’s a beautiful piece of work. 

“It’s incredible.” Louis glances to Harry, locking eyes with him. “Really Harry, it’s absolutely amazing. Probably one of the most beautiful things I’ll ever see.”

“You really think so?”

Louis chuckles. “Yes, it’s perfect, just like you are. Now, just where are we going to put this beautiful painting, hm?” Very carefully, he takes it from Harry, and holds it above his waistline as if he’s plotting where to hang it from. 

“We can hang it on that wall over there.” Harry suggests, nodding to an empty space on one of the walls. 

“No, I want it somewhere everyone can see it. Hm...what about the empty space by my award shelf?” 

Harry’s surprised Louis wants all of their friends and families to see it. He thought for sure the older lad would want to keep it private. “If that’s what you want.” 

“Is that what you want?” 

Harry shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.” 

With that, Louis walks straight out of the art studio and into the living room. He leans the canvas against the couch as he searches for nails and a hammer. 

After some intense searching, he finds both utensils and pins the canvas to the wall. Taking a step back, he can admire the art as a whole.

There's a split second where he wonders if this contributes to making him a vain celebrity, considering he now has artwork of himself in his home.  He decides this is different. This is for both him and his boyfriend.

“What do you think H?” he asks, turning his head to look at the younger boy sat on the couch. 

“It's a bit crooked.” he jokes. “But I like it anyway.” 

Louis smiles, then takes a seat beside him, kissing the underside of his jaw. “I love it so much.”

Harry can’t help but smile. He’s very proud of his piece, and it seems Louis is too. He’s never felt better about himself. 

 

 

 

 

Today’s a big day. Harry is attending an art gala where his work is going to be on display for the first time.

“Relax love, let me see.” Louis encourages, bending down to take the two ends of the tie in each hand. “You look gorgeous, would I lie to you?”

The appearance took weeks of encouragement from Louis, but eventually he was able to convince Harry to show his artwork to a board of trustees, and they decided to give him his own area to showcase his talent. 

Louis is hoping he gets offered money in exchange for a painting, or perhaps even a job opening, only so he can see how important his art really is to society. Art stretches beyond a neighborhood, it’s international, and makes people feel joyous. Harry understands that, Louis knows he does, it's just he’s always had trouble believing he contributes to the community. 

“Has no one ever showed you how to tie a tie?” Louis asks, raising both his eyebrows.

Harry frowns. “I don’t even know how to tie my shoes.”

“Sorry I asked.” Louis mumbles, crossing the wide end of the tie over the thinner. 

Meanwhile, Harry tucks his chin to his chest as he watches Louis’ hands work on looping the tie through a hole he’s somehow created. “How did you learn to do that?”

“Let’s just say mum is a woman of many trades, Harold.” Louis’ tongue slides out past his lips in concentration as he goes step by step. Soon, his hands some moving, and he releases the silky black material. “And there we go handsome.” he takes a step back, admiring his work. “Next time we’ll get you a bolo tie.”

The two of them look remarkably nice. Harry’s dressed in one of Louis’ old suits. It fits him quite nicely around the arms and torso, although it's short around the wrists, since he’s lankier than Louis. The only major downside is the dark red material doesn’t hug his legs as it should since they’re so skinny. 

Louis wears a similar suit, rather his is black while his tie is dark red. Needless to say, they planned on matching, and they look good while doing so. 

“Will you show me how to do it?” Harry asks, breaking Louis from his thoughts.

The brunet lad glances down at him, since he's sat in his wheelchair. “Hm?”

“Tie a tie. Will you show me how?” he asks, again. 

Louis doesn't hesitate. “Sure, love. We can practice on mine.” He leans in towards Harry and grabs his hands. “Try to listen to what I tell you, okay?”

Harry nods.

“First you’re gonna take one end in each hand.” Harry does so. “Okay, now take your wider end and cross it over the smaller end.” Again, Harry follows without a mistake. “Pull it up into the loop from underneath.” He struggles a bit with that step, but Louis doesn't comment. “Okay, now pull it down to the left, then underneath the small end, pull it to the right.” It's this point in teaching where Louis places his hands on top of Harry’s and guides him the rest of the way. 

“Did I do okay?” Harry asks, once the steps are completed. 

“You did great babes. Looks professional.” Of course, it's not a perfect tie, but Louis won't dare adjust it. He presses a gentle kiss to Harry’s lips. “Alright, so Zayn and Gemma should be here soon, then we’ll head to the gallery, sound good?”

“Yeah.” 

The board gave everyone the opportunity to bring guests. Louis asked his three bandmates, and it was Zayn who wanted to come more than the others. With another guest spot left, Harry figured it would be in his best interest to bring Gemma, especially since he has no one else to chose from.

It's no more than ten minutes that Gemma comes through the front door, followed by Zayn a couple minutes later. 

Gemma wears a black dress with a peter pan collar and three quarter sleeves. Her hair is swept back into a slightly messy bun, a few loose strands frame her face, and she wears flats, which Harry is glad for. He loves his sister dearly, but she can't walk in heels. 

“Don't you just look darling.” she hums, leaning down to peck his cheek. “And you too.” she says to Louis, repeating the action. 

Zayn walks in, instantly smelling of nicotine, though he's tried to cover it with some strong cologne. Tom Ford, Louis guesses. He’s wearing all black - black slacks, black button up, and a black tie. “Sorry, I’m late.” 

“Sure you are, how was your smoke on the way up?” Louis teases. 

Zayn doesn't seem to find it funny in the slightest. “It was fine, thanks for your concern.” 

Harry watches the two of them. Zayn’s easily his favorite of Louis’ band mates. He won’t pretend that Zayn didn’t scare the shit out of him when he first met him, but now that he knows him better, he isn't intimidating.

When he first met Zayn properly, a time where the other lads hadn’t been around, all he saw was a guy covered in dark ink, multiple piercings, and he reeked of weed, what else was he supposed to think? It wasn't that he thought he was in danger, rather he didn't know what to think. After all, how could someone like him be mates with someone like Louis?

Soon after meeting Zayn one on one, it came out that Louis smoked pot, a lot, and he also had many more tattoos then Harry had initially imagined. But Harry wasn't angry, there was nothing to be angry about. After all, he has quite a few tattoos himself, and he’s smoked a few times before - thanks to his medical marijuana card. 

Zayn has been exceptionally nice to him. The other boys have been too, but Harry’s more comfortable with the raven haired boy, as he spends the most time with him out of any of Louis’ friends.

The turning point for their friendship was definitely the one day, the three of them had been out on the balcony, Louis and Zayn smoking a blunt, when Zayn had turned to him, met his eyes, and said, “You know Harry, you're actually really fuckin’ cool.” 

Harry has never been called cool in his entire life. It felt like an accomplishment, and as hard as he tried to play it cool, he was giddy. 

“Must be inhaling the fumes or something.” Louis jested, smiling at his younger boyfriend, and placed a hand on his inner thigh. 

Zayn smiles as soon as he lays eyes on Harry. “Hey kiddo, how are you?”

“Good, you?” 

“Really good.” he clamps his hand down on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing. “You look dashing in red.” 

It would be false to say Harry doesn’t have a crush on Zayn. How could he not? With those cheekbones and gorgeous brown eyes, he’s enticing.

But Harry wouldn't give Louis up for the world. A crush will stay a crush as the both of them are satisfied in their relationships. Harry with Louis, and Zayn with...Gigi.

Gigi seems like a nice girl, but Harry doesn’t care for her. He’s met her a few times. 

She has this way of talking to him that he doesn't quite like. She’ll bend down in front of him, hands on her knees, tilting her head his way, just to prove a point that she's listening and trying to understand what he's saying. 

She’s tall, taller than both Zayn and Louis, perhaps that's why she feels the need to, but Harry knows it’s probably some unintentional mocking. Also, the little “what?” she quips whenever he speaks is particularly annoying. 

“Alright, I think we’re ready to go.” Louis announces, narrowing his eyes at Zayn as if reminding him to step off. 

The four of them take the lift down to the main floor and Louis keeps one hand gripping the back of Harry’s chair, so he doesn't pick up momentum as they walk down the ramp. 

Once at the car, Louis has Zayn and Gemma climb into the backseat. The two of them get on fine, though Gemma does flock to Niall more often than anyone else. It should be an interesting twenty minute ride. 

Louis gets the car door for Harry, and drapes an arm around him to aid him in standing. The car has quite a large step to get into it, Louis really hadn't thought it through when he purchased it, and Harry can climb into the car with minimal assistance, but he can’t step out, at all. They tried it one time, he missed his footing, and had Louis not caught him, he would have busted his head open. 

So, Louis has to carry him, and while it is quite cute, the media seems to think otherwise. The paparazzi become rather rambunctious as it is when they see Louis and Harry, but add Harry making any kind of statement towards his disability, and they go insane. 

Fans have been quite nice to Harry, and Harry has gotten better with not panicking when they start to crowd. Usually, they’ll come up to Louis, ask for the usual autograph, picture, hug, try to strike a bit of conversation, then greet Harry before they continue on their way.

It's not them that have made it difficult. In fact, there was an instance where an exit had become blocked by paparazzi, and the fans had been the ones to force them to move. 

Anytime Harry does anything, looks a bit too pale or stumbles even the tiniest bit, it becomes a huge controversy in the media. All they need is another headlining stating  _ Singer Louis Tomlinson’s boyfriend is in bad health. _

And while it may not be true, it doesn't make it any less annoying. 

“Remember, it's a big step babe.” Louis reminds, moving one hand to Harry’s hip as he stands behind him, hoisting him into the car. His younger boyfriend grabs the handle on the roof, and slowly slides himself into the car seat. 

Meanwhile, Louis folds the chair and carries it to the back, laying it flat on the boards of the car. He rounds the front and climbs into the driver’s seat. 

The car ride isn't particularly long. What was supposed to be a twenty minute drive turns into thirty five with traffic and weather, since a light ice is painted over the roads, but it's okay, they're not in a rush anyway.

They already transported Harry’s paintings to the location earlier in the week, so it's one less thing they have to worry about since a committee was made to come in and hang the art pieces and decorate the venue. 

As they start to approach the parking garage, Louis notices a few photographers, so he pulls the car in so the driver's side faces them. “One of you grab his chair for me, so we can make this as quick as possible.” he explains as he hops out of the car, shielding his face with his hand as he walks past the cameramen. 

He crosses over to Harry’s side, and opens the door. “Scoot a little closer to me, love.” he directs, allowing Harry to do so, then he hooks an arm underneath Harry’s knees and the other around his back. “You good?” he asks, meeting his eyes. 

Harry threads his arm around Louis’ neck. “Yeah.”

As soon as he starts to carry his weight, multiple shouts and camera flashes coming from middle-aged men startle him, his foot catches on a piece of ice, causing him to slip. He doesn't have much of a choice; he looses his grip on Harry. 

“Shit.” Louis manages to catch himself on the car, though by the time he does, his knees and one of his palms are already pressed into the ice. 

He hears Zayn asking Harry questions before he even has the chance to look up. “Are you alright? How hard did you hit it?” 

When he does have the opportunity to look up, he sees that Zayn has Harry pinned against the interior of the car. How, Louis doesn't know, but he's glad, very glad.

“Holy fucking shit.” Gemma rushes to say, bending down to help Louis stand. She locks there arms together and pulls him to his feet. “Are you alright?”

“A bit wet, a little mortified, but I’ll be okay.” he says, brushing the snow from his kneecaps. 

People are still taking pictures, Louis doesn't quite understand it. 

Zayn holds Harry’s chin in his hand. “You alright kiddo? Harry?”

Harry looks shocked. His hand holds the back of his head as he stares at Zayn. Somehow the older lad managed to get him wedged between the car seat and his on body. “Harry?” he tries, once more.

Louis comes to his senses as well. He looks to his bandmate and boyfriend. “Z, he alright?” 

“Whacked his head.” His dark haired friend calls back to him. Just as he speaks, Harry moves his head **. “** Hey, take it easy. You alright?” 

Harry slowly nods, removing his hand from the back of his head. “Blacked out for a minute. I'm okay.” 

“Fuck I’m so sorry. Is your head okay?” Louis asks, watching his footing as he walks closer to them. 

“Yeah, fine. Just wanna get comfortable.” he mutters, bracing himself on Zayn’s arms.

“I think it’ll be best for you to slide down into your chair, babe,” Louis says, motioning for Gemma to push the wheelchair closer. He grabs underneath Harry’s arm closest to him, then gestures for Zayn to move, but quickly, so he can grab Harry’s other arm. 

Together, they're able to guide Harry down into the seat and Zayn shuts the door behind him. “I’m glad that they've got that whole fucking ordeal on camera,” Harry snaps, trying to situate himself. “Shouldn't be so damn difficult to get into a fucking wheelchair.” 

“Hey, shh, don't let that ruin your day. It's gonna be good.” Louis encourages, brushing areas of Harry’s hair down with his fingers. 

Harry sighs. “Fuck! I just want to go inside.”

“Okay.” Louis reaches to grab the handles of the wheelchair, but Harry trudges forward before he can. “By myself, I can push myself inside.”

Louis doesn't say anything, rather follows behind his boyfriend. Although, he soon hits a patch of ice and his wheels lose traction, nearly tipping the chair over, had it not been for Louis grabbing the back.  “Babe, let me push you inside, and you can take it from there, alright? It's too slick.” 

Harry doesn't verbally answer him. He crosses his arms over his chest, appearing annoyed by his predicament. Meanwhile, Louis pushes him along the pavement, careful of the areas that are more icy than others, until they enter the front doors. 

From that point on, Louis let's go, allowing Harry to maneuver himself as he wishes. First, they walk to the front desk, so Harry can sign in for the event, and then they’re escorted to the area where Harry’s artwork is hanging. 

He has quite a few pieces on display. The one positioned in the center is the one of Louis, and encasing it are variety of other portraits he’s done throughout the years. 

Zayn breaks the silence. “This is so fucking sick.” he says, approaching to observe Harry’s paintings. 

Harry backs himself into a spot near the artwork, and Louis stands beside him. “Don't tell me you're angry. This is your chance to make a name for yourself.”

“I don't understand why everything has to be so hard for me.” Harry says, honestly, and looks up at Louis. His jawline looks sharp enough to slice bread from this angle. “Doesn't seem fair is all.”

“It’ll all come together.” Louis answers.

Harry glances around the gallery. There’s four other artists in his general vicinity. While he may not be able to make out most of the art surrounding them, the girl diagonal from him has her art positioned at an angle that is very clear to observers in any direction.

She’s not very old, seventeen at most, but her work is sophisticated. Her hair is bright blue, coming to a halt just below her ears, and she’s stood, explaining one particular piece to an older gentleman, who is working the gala judging by his uniformed attire.

Harry is indulged by her mannerisms. Her smile never fades as she points out specific elements to the interested man. 

On the canvas is a graphite drawing of a lion who’s face slowly transforms into that of a lamb’s. The contrast of the lions heroic features to the lamb’s meek details are prominent. It’s realistic, but also increasingly dynamic the longer Harry stares.

The girl’s finger draws a line down the middle of where the faces join as she goes into a further explanation. At this point, the man appears irked, trying to step away from her without being rude.

She seems to notice, her smile diminishing in a matter of seconds, and before long she has her back turned everyone. 

“See something interesting?” Louis guesses, peering in the direction Harry is. Considering his tone, Harry can tell he's not nearly as enthused about what he sees. 

“I want to buy that drawing.” he says, easing towards the young girl’s display.

Louis glances at the time on his phone. “The gala starts in a few minutes, love. Can't it wait?”

“I have to have it.” 

"Alright," Louis doesn't have any real reason to stop him. “I'll keep an eye on your display then.” 

Harry goes without as much as another word, but he isn't out of sight. 

He approaches the blue haired girl, clearing his throat. “Excuse me.”

She turns, eyes lowering to meet his, “Yeah?”

“I couldn't help but notice the guy before, and I just wanted to let you know, some people are incapable of appreciating art.” He tries to speak as slow and clear as possible. 

“You think so?”

“I know so, I've lived through it many of times.” Harry admits, truthfully. “You shouldn't be discouraged by some random guy’s lack of interest.”

“Well thank you.” She seems to become a bit more comfortable. Her shoulders roll back and her stance changes to one encouraging conversation. “I saw that you have a display as well. Your stuff is wicked cool.” 

“Years of practice.” Harry concludes, though instead of focusing on her, his eyes are on her lion sketch. “Do you reckon you’d be willing to sell that? I mean, you've got so many nice pieces, I’m sure it wouldn't be missed too much.” 

She follows his line of sight to her drawing. “Really?” she asks, surprised by his request. Harry nods. “Uh yeah, sure, twenty pounds?” 

“One hundred, or I refuse to take it.” 

Her eyes grow to the size of saucers. “What? You're serious?” 

“You put a lot of time and effort into that. I don't take advantage of hard work.” He lifts his bum out of the chair, fishing in his back pocket for his wallet. He retrieves a crisp hundred pound note, and hands it over to her in exchange for the canvas. 

“Wow, thank you so much sir.” She breathes, examining the money in her hand. 

It’s important to know one’s own creations are worth something more than a half-witted compliment. “Actually, my names Harry, and you are?”

“Claire. Thank you so much, Harry, it really means a lot to me.”

He smiles. “I know it does. You enjoy the rest of your day now, okay?” 

“I will now.” she gushes, storing the money away in her coat pocket. 

He balances the canvas on his lap, then strolls back to Louis. “That was really sweet of you, you know that?” The older boy asks, impressed by his actions, and takes the canvas from Harry’s lap, examining the fine details. 

“If no one’s offering support, then what’s the point?” Harry replies, returning to his position beforehand with ease. 

“Fair point.” Louis says. He sets the drawing aside.

Gemma smiles, resting her palms flat on his shoulders. “Would you look at that? The grinch really does have a heart.”

Harry forces a laugh. “You’re hilarious.” he adds, dryly.

“I sure thought so.” she kids, kneading her fingers into his tense muscles. 

An announcement floods the gallery mere moments later: the doors are being opened for the general public.

The day starts slow. Not many people show for the first few hours, and the one’s that do tend to completely overlook Harry’s section.

“I think it’s the wheelchair. Maybe I’d be better off sitting on the floor like them art enthusiasts do.” Harry suggests.

Louis considers it for a moment. In comparison to standing, sitting on the floor sounds like paradise. “Give it some time, love. Everyone knows people who  _ actually _ matter always come fashionably late.”

Zayn reappears an hour later after disappearing for two. He comes bearing a bag of candied almonds. “Anything new?” he asks, crunching on a piece of candy with his molars. 

“Where the fuck have you been mate?” Louis asks, snatching the half eaten bag from him. He dumps a handful into his palm, offering them to Harry. 

“You’re not gonna believe this.”

Louis sighs. “You're right, I probably won’t.”

Zayn doesn’t seem fazed by Louis’ sarcastic comment. “So, I go to look around at some of the booths, right? This group of girls comes up to me and won’t stop pestering me for a photo and whatnot. I take photos, and videos, sign their fucking tits, whatever they want, but they just would not leave me alone. To make a long story short, I hid in the bathroom for a good hour, and on the way back here, I found a little concession stand.” 

Harry takes a few nuts from Louis’ hand. “I don't know how you guys deal with that kind of attention.” 

“I try to avoid it.” Zayn shrugs, mouthful of sugary protein. He offers a few almonds to Gemma, but she shakes her head. 

Louis doesn’t bother wasting his breath because yes, he knows that Zayn avoids fans at all costs, because what else could possibly explain his constant disappearances. “I’m surprised they haven't found us over here yet.” 

Another hour passes and L ouis swears he has never been so bored. He can hardly keep his eyes open and he's  _ standing _ , he can only imagine the exhaustion Harry must be fighting _.  _ A handful of people have come to the display and asked questions, but none of them meaningful.

Eventually though, a woman dressed in prestigious attire approaches them. Her knee length black skirt matches her black blazer and her dark hair is pulled back into a slick ponytail at the crown of her head.

“Hello,” she smiles, one hand latching onto the strap of her large purse. “How are you lot today?”

This is too repetitive. Each person starts conversation the same way. If this one doesn't work out, Harry’s going to tell Louis that they might as well pack up and go home. He doesn't want to spend four more hours in a place that’s only proving what a failure he is. “We’re well, and yourself?” Harry asks.

“Very good. I love being in the same place as so many creative minds, may I?” she gestures to the large painting of Louis, indicating she wishes to see it up close. 

“Of course.” Harry says.

“Thank you.” Her heels click against the hardwood flooring as she takes a few steps closer. “This is such a beautiful piece, really all of these are. Which of you is the artist?”

Harry feels nervous as he admits, “I am. Um, Harry Styles.” 

“Have you ever wanted to do something more with your talent? These are truly breathtaking.” 

Louis smiles at Harry, nodding his head in encouragement. He rests his hand on the crook of Harry’s neck. “Yeah, of course, it would be silly of me to say no.” 

“I’ll give you a proper introduction then. My name is Jean Maxwell, and I’m a professor at the University of Arts here in London, but I’m also the leader of a few art committees based all around England.” 

Harry listens to her, despite not comprehending where this conversation is going to lead. 

“And I’m sure my small talk is a bit unnerving, but I wanted to introduce myself before I raised my offer.” she turns completely to face Harry. His disability doesn't even remotely seem to have any effect on their conversation. “A group of my colleagues and I, as well as some of my students, said are taking a trip to Kenya in a few months. I’m one of the group leaders of The Red Pencil Humanitarian Mission. I don’t know if you’re familiar with us, but we travel to less fortunate countries and provide art therapy for children.” She reaches into her bag for a few pamphlets and hands them to Harry. 

He flips through the pamphlet, not reading the words, rather keeping himself occupied while he thinks. 

“I came today to recruit artists for our trip, and I would like to invite you to come along with us.” 

Louis’ face falls and as soon as he exchanges a look with Gemma, her facial expression looks rather solemn. 

“What exactly would I be doing?” Harry asks, staring at her thoughtfully. 

“We’re going to travel to hospitals in Kenya to introduce art therapy, and we’ll teach the staffs how to intertwine it with some of their long term patients.” she explains to him. “We plan on creating a large mural on the side of the hospital, something to keep the hope and prayers going.” 

This is all he's ever wanted. To do something with his talent, and if it benefits someone, or multiple people, in an important way, then that's exactly what he wants.

Jean adds on, “And I don’t want you to worry about anything. We’ll discuss it, and any accommodations you need will be provided.” He likes that she hasn't directly addressed his situation. It makes him feel as though someone values his art over his struggles. “So, here's my card.” she digs in her purse again, withdrawing a card and adding it to Harry’s pile of information. “I'll give you a few weeks to think it over, and hopefully we’ll be in contact soon to exchange more info. It was a pleasure meeting you Harry, I think people have something to learn from you.” 

And in a split second, Jean is gone, walking through various booths, but she doesn't stop to talk to any of the hosts. 

“That's a pretty big offer, huh? Absolutely insane.” Gemma manages, her voice cracking.

Harry doesn't answer. In fact, they leave soon after that interaction, without as much as a single word being spoken.

“It was a lot of fun.” Zayn says, deciding it’s a good time to announce his departure once the four of them are back in Louis and Harry’s flat. “Congratulations on everything, kiddo. See you soon.” He embraces Harry, who’s sat on the couch, and presses a kiss to his temple. “Bye Gemma. See you in the studio, Lou.”

As soon as Zayn’s gone, the awkward tension intensifies. 

Gemma can't seem to help herself as she’s been antsy since Jean first introduced herself. “You're not seriously considering her offer, right? I mean - I'm happy for you, but Harry, come on.”

“What?” Harry refutes. “Why wouldn't I? It was a genuine offer.”

Louis bites down on his bottom lip as he listens to the siblings go back and forth. Does he get a say? Sure, he's known Harry for over a year, but does that give him grounds to offer his opinion?

“I'm not saying it wasn’t genuine. Jean seems like a lovely woman, but don’t you think you have a little too much going on here in England?” Gemma asks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What do I have going on Gemma?” 

“Harry.” She sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“No, Gemma. What do I have going for me here? A sad fucking life dictated by cerebral palsy?” His voice has deepened in octave. There’s a high level of tension collected in his tone. 

Louis has always had trouble biting his tongue. “You have me, Harry.” 

“You don't understand.” he whispers, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets in frustration. “I love you, and I love the home we have, but fuck, I want to do something for me, something that I deserve after all these years. You get to travel the world, why can't I?” 

Gemma shakes her head. “You’re my brother and I love you but it’s different for you, babe. What if you get out there and you fall or you forget to take a pill or you have a seizure, then what?” 

“I'm more than capable of taking care of myself.” Harry snaps.

Louis hates to agree with Gemma on this sort of thing, but she’s right. Harry can’t get out of the car by himself, and even with help, he still managed to fall, how does he expect to take care of himself for an extended period of time?

“Harry babe, put some more thought into this, okay? She said you have a few weeks to decide, so take her up on that, please.” Louis practically pleads. 

If Harry could stand up and stomp off, surely he would. “You're going to be gone on another tour anyway! I'll be by myself again, what does it matter if I’m here or in another country if you're gonna be gone anyway? I am twenty five years old, neither of you get to make my decisions for me.”  

“Harry -”

He interrupts. “Go home Gemma.” 

“But -”

“Goodbye.” he seethes, cheeks flushing to a rosy red. 

She throws her hands in the air as she stands. “Fine, if you want to risk your health, then be my guest. All I’m trying to do is help.” With those words, she storms out of the apartment, slamming the wooden door behind her tiny body. 

Harry can feel Louis shift his gaze to focus on him. “Before you say anything, don’t. I don't want to hear it.” 

Louis sighs. He needs a cup of tea, oh, and something to deal with the headache he can already feel coming on.  What is he to do?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> violence tw

Working on a sketch with a mug of hot chocolate to his left and his set of colored pencils to his right Harry sits at the breakfast bar while Louis stands on the opposing side, his head stuffed halfway in the fridge as he searches for something to eat.  “You can't just ignore me, Harry. We’re gonna have to talk about it sometime.” 

Harry refuses to say a word to Louis about anything, even if said subject has no correlation to the Kenya trip. He’s been this way for two days now as he's been bothered about it ever since they returned home from the art gala.

Though his silence expands past Louis. Gemma has tried to call him multiple times and each time Louis answers, but whenever he tries to pass the phone off to Harry, the younger boy refuses to take it.  Being upset is understandable, but how are they to get past this when all Harry does is act as though the situation merely doesn't exist? “Harry.” Louis tries again, stepping away from the refrigerator. His eyes  dart over to his boyfriend. “Harry, would you please talk to me?” 

Harry doesn't answer him, continuing to sketch the outline of a lady’s eyes. They’re steady grey in color, almond shaped, with luscious eyelashes. It's quite a stunning piece and Louis would normally compliment him. That is, if the younger lad was speaking to him. 

Louis groans, rubbing his hand over his face. “Come on man.” Instantaneously, a flash of irritation shoots through Louis’ veins, and he knocks Harry’s mug over in a fit of rage.

“What the fuck?” The younger boy shrieks, scooting the chair back from the breakfast counter to protect himself from the boiling hot liquid dripping off the sides. “Louis, you fucking destroyed my drawing! Why would you do that?”

Louis observes the woman’s face - now a mess of blurred graphite lines, the whites of her eyes faded to a milky brown - and raises his eyebrows in surprise. He didn't know he was capable of behaving so spontaneously. “I...I’m sorry, I don't know what got into me.” he, awkwardly, rubs the back of his neck. “Really Harry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“If you want to talk so bad, then fucking talk.” Harry scoffs, inching closer to the counter as the rush of liquid starts to slow. There’s no preserving the woman’s face now, and it’s not like he can start over from memory. Hours went into that drawing, all for nothing. “But you’re cleaning all this shit up.” 

Louis doesn’t argue. He intended on cleaning the mess up anyways. “Are you gonna listen this time?” he asks, scanning over Harry’s annoyed facial features with hopeful eyes.

Harry sighs as he folds the saturated piece of paper over, checking to see if the rest of his drawing pad is ruined. It is, of course. He pushes it aside. “What other choice do I have?” 

“ _ Babe _ .” Louis stresses, rounding the counter, and sits beside Harry. “I understand that it’s an amazing opportunity, maybe even a once in a lifetime opportunity, but you also need to understand where I’m coming from.”

“But I want to go, Louis. Why is it everyone gets a say in the matter when I never, ever discourage any of you?” 

Louis knows Harry has presented a thoughtful point, and he's proud of him for not reacting submissively, but also he hates his full ability to comprehend the biased situation before them. If it were up to Louis, given the situation was different, he would encourage Harry to pursue this mission to Africa, but his more sensible side realizes the risk of him going to a underdeveloped area of the world. They don’t have proper medical personnel, and with Harry prescribed to so many pharmaceuticals for a variety of issues, Louis, in his heart, knows it isn’t safe. “Harry, it isn’t like that.” he whispers. 

“It is though. I mean, what’s the problem? I try to do something good for myself and you and everyone else would rather tear me down than support me.”

“If the circumstances were different - “ 

Harry interrupts, “You mean if I wasn’t fucking crippled, right?” A laugh expels past his lips, then he continues, saying, “If I could actually take care of myself and not rely on my boyfriend or my sister for the essentials of life?”

“You’re putting words in my mouth.” Louis argues, agitation and anger bubbling through his core. If there’s one thing he wishes he could change about Harry it’s his inability to rationally think. The kid jumps to conclusions faster than anyone he’s ever met, and they’re never reasonable conclusions either. 

“Yeah? Then you go ahead and tell me what circumstances would need to be different.” Harry's body language shifts. He straightens up against the chair, arms crossed over his chest, and chin raised in such a pompous manner that Louis wishes to grab his face and forcibly change it. But he won’t do that because he’s a rational human being, or at least he’s trying his hardest to remain civil. 

Louis starts to defend himself, but as soon as he recognizes that Harry is going to take his words the wrong way, his lips clamp shut. 

“Exactly, none of you have faith in me to do well.” Harry sneers, reaching for his crutches slanted against the counter. “You’re  _ always  _ rooting against me.”  As soon as loops one arm through the cuff, dragging the weighted object towards him, something in Louis’ mind clicks. The two of them will never be content with one another if they’re constantly at each other’s throats arguing and calling out the other's flaws. Louis knows he wants to spend his life with Harry. For as long as they’ve been together, since the first day he met him, he’s felt comfortable and happy. Harry is the man he wants to see happy and he also wants to cause some of that happiness. Taking away his wishes and aspirations doesn’t bring forth happiness whatsoever, and so he understands he needs to give Harry the freedom and independence to do as he chooses.

Afterall, he has no right to make decisions and choices on the behalf of someone else. Harry has his second crutch in hand when Louis finally says, “I want you to go.”

Confusion halts Harry’s actions, eyes widening as he puts his attention on Louis. “What?”

“To Kenya. I want you to go if that’s what you want.” he says, swallowing down the fear which comes from saying those words. 

Harry searches his face for an answer. “What changed your mind?   


“I know that we both want very different things, but it isn’t worth arguing to me. I can’t change your mind and you can’t change mine, so I want you to do whatever makes you the happiest. Go, don’t go, whatever you want, it’s entirely your decision.” 

“What about Gemma and my mum?” Harry asks, slipping his left arm through the second cuff. 

Louis didn’t even think of them, but it’s a little late to withdraw from what he’s told Harry. He supposes it isn’t their decision either as Harry is a twenty five year old man, and he understands himself better than anyone else. Or, at least Louis hopes he knows what’s best for himself. “I’ll talk to them, don’t worry about it.” 

“I’ll go ring Jean then.” he announces, careful as he presses his weight down on both crutches until he finds equilibrium standing on his own two feet. 

Louis nods, keeping a close eye on Harry as he begins to walk away. Though, the younger boy stops for a moment, right beside Louis, before leaning in and kissing his cheek, quietly thanking him. “I love you, thank you.” he whispers.

“I love you too.” Louis says, holding back the sigh in his throat until Harry’s gone from the kitchen. He leans his elbows on the breakfast counter, running his hands through his hair, disheveling it. 

What has he done?

Very faintly, Harry’s voice comes from his studio, and he sounds excited as he speaks to the professor. It’s a grand feeling, knowing Harry is excited and happy, but worry has settled in the pit of Louis’ stomach. He should’ve held his ground and told him no because now if anything bad happens to his lover it’s on him, it’s his fault for giving Harry permission to do as he wished. He can only hope Harry will make responsible choices. 

 

 

 

 

 

Weeks pass, and Harry’s decision has not changed, he’s dead set on boarding the bloody plane and leaving the country at five thirty tomorrow morning. While Louis is extremely apprehensive about the ordeal, he refuses to say much about it. So what if he's not content with it? It's Harry's time to shine, and he would hate to accidentally take the honor away from him. 

“I’m heading to the studio, did you wanna come?” Louis asks, pulling his coat on. 

Harry doesn't look up from his sketch pad as he sits on the couch. Needlessly said, these last few weeks haven't been easy on their relationship either. They don't argue, that's not the problem, rather Harry has acted distant and isolated given Louis’ forced support towards the Kenya trip. 

Louis tries again. “Harry?” 

“I heard you.” The younger boy replies, using the side of his hand to wipe away some of the eraser residue left behind from his pencil.

“So, did you wanna come? You can sit in one of the spare rooms, and draw or whatever if you want.” 

Harry shakes his head, though doesn't verbally answer. It's a pet peeve for Louis. Although he doesn't hold Harry to any set expectation, he sure would like it if his boyfriend would give him the common courtesy of speaking when spoken to. 

After all, he's not going to hear that lovely voice in person for about a month and a half.  Harry leaving England, his safe place, to go to another country is petrifying. There's so many things to worry about concerning Harry’s medical well being. 

Kenya is nearly a nine hour flight, so Louis can’t arrive on the flip of a coin if he needed to. With the long distance, there comes a multitude of concerns, most of which Louis finds to be understandable. As Gemma has mentioned on multiple occasions, if he were to fall or become ill, there isn't much to be done. Kenya isn't nearly as structured in medicine as England, so Harry could face severe complications. 

“Are you sure? Maybe we could -” Louis starts to say.

Harry interrupts. “I have to finish packing anyways. Have a good time at the studio, though.” 

“Right.” he sighs, staring at Harry as if waiting for him to utter another word. He doesn't. “I’ll see you later then.”

Again, no acknowledgement on Harry’s end. He continues to shade his drawing, feverishly dragging the pencil back and forth on the paper.  Louis doesn't want to cause an argument, so he doesn't say anything else about the matter, instead collects his keys and sunglasses from the coffee table, and leaves the apartment. 

As soon as he steps into the driver’s side of his car and shuts the door after him, he sits for a moment, pondering what it is with Harry having to prove himself to everyone else.  The back of his head slumps against the cushioned headrest and he shuts his eyes, body sinking with a hefty exhale. While he’s scared about Harry leaving the country, part of him is also content with knowing his boyfriend will be allowed out of the spotlight for some time. 

Despite the large group of people who are in support of their relationship - most are beyond thrilled to see a man with a disability in such high regard - there are quite a few stragglers who don't seem to understand the concept of one of the most famous men in the music industry participating in a gay relationship with a man who has a disability.

Louis is well versed in media speculations and nasty comments left on social media, after facing it for years, so it hardly bothers him anymore. Although, there's been more than a few times he’s had trouble biting his tongue, and those are the moments where he loses his temper on Twitter or in public. Slowly, he’ll regain his composure, but he still makes headlines after using foul mouthed words and rude gestures.

Harry, on the other hand, still finds the realm of fame to be a bit strange. Whenever the two of them are on a date, fans approach them to ask Louis for a hug or picture, but on occasion, a fan or two will try to carry a conversation with Harry. The first time it happened Louis was uneasy and tried to ease the girls away from Harry, but upon seeing Harry’s relaxed expression, he left them alone. 

Most of the public interactions are harmless, and if he were being honest, Harry would say the small acknowledgements are pleasant. The girls don't ever expect anything from him, rather they speak for a minute or two, and on the even rarer occasion, they’ll ask if it's okay to hug him. It usually is unless his anxiety is spiking that particular day, then he gives them a quick apology before they part ways. 

There’s only been one issue in public. It was a meet and greet session in Liverpool, and there wasn't a show following it, so Louis told Harry he could stay in the room as the fans came through to meet the four lads. 

Harry sat in his chair, back to the door, as he spoke to Liam’s girlfriend. They bonded over a bag of Hershey kisses as she told him stories of mishaps that had happened to One Direction on stage. Stories of clumsiness and technical difficulties fell off her lips with frequent laughter. Every once and awhile, he would catch Louis glancing towards him, offering him either a wink or smile as a means of encouragement.

Soon, she dismissed herself to grab something to drink for the both of them, and moments after she disappeared, ice cold liquid abruptly fell from the ceiling and saturated Harry’s hair and clothes. 

A gasp left him, and before he even had the chance to turn around, security was already tackling someone to the ground and Louis was jogging over to them, facial expression broadcasting anger. “Why the fuck weren't you keeping a better eye out, huh? It's your fucking job to protect him!” he yelled at one of the security guards, pointing a finger of accusation at him. 

Harry peered over his shoulder, watching as security escorted a belligerent out of the session. He glanced back to focus on his lap, shivering slightly at the cold sensation seeping into his skin.  “And I apologize. She must've slipped past.” The older man answered, stoic. 

Louis shut his eyes, blatantly struggling to keep himself calm. “Slipped past? How did she fucking slip past a  _ team _ of security? She poured soda on my boyfriend!” 

“How fucking ignorant can you be?” Louis hissed, then finally looked to Harry. “You alright, love? I'm really sorry. Some of the people that come to these things are downright insane.” 

Harry kept his focal point on his lap, flicking the dark soda off his hands by shaking them. “I want to leave.” 

“We have a bathroom here. I can take you to clean up.” he offered, grabbing Harry's shoulder. Harry jerked away from him. He was absolutely drenched in soda, so much that it was still rolling off his jaw, and becoming absorbed by his clothes. 

“Louis hurry up! We need you back over here!” An executive shouted. 

Harry scoffed. “You're needed in a more important place.” Before Louis could say another word, Harry pushed himself away, exiting the room. 

Louis’ grateful that they've only had that one physical encounter, but on social media, it's been a frenzy. People have clearly never been taught about appropriate and inappropriate language in regards to someone with a disability. The words “crippled” and “retarded” show up so frequently in Louis’ mentions and timeline, and between his 30 million followers it’s impossible for him to block every single rude person.

Twitter seems to be fueled by negative comments concerning Harry’s speech mostly. Though there’s always comments regarding Harry’s physical handicap, sentence after sentence appears focusing on his speech impediment. Louis doesn't understand it because, to him, Harry’s impediment is hardly noticeable and even if it was, so what? Harry is actually extremely eloquent and intelligent beyond belief, and if some people were to give him the time and opportunity, he could prove it to them. Sure, he struggles with pronunciation - for the love of God, that's what dysarthria is - but it doesn't take away his brilliance or broad vocabulary. 

For the reason of negativity, Louis constantly tells Harry that social media is a waste and he doesn't need it. As of now, Harry has listened, but it probably won't be an eternal agreement.

Mostly, people seem to love Harry, but there will always be the minority who can't stand him. For what reason, Louis isn't sure. He tries his hardest to stay out of those conflicts. People shouldn't be curious of what he truly thinks of them because if he were to expose himself, he can guarantee he would no longer be famous due to the intensity of the vulgarity he would express. 

Finally, he sits up straight, gripping the steering wheel with a secure hand as he starts the car with his other. The studio isn't very far, in fact it's closer in comparison to where his old apartment was, so he pulls into the lot in about fifteen minutes. 

As soon as he walks into Studio A - they’ve recorded all their albums in this studio, it’s rumoured by producers to have good luck - the very same studio The Rolling Stones, Adele, and Coldplay have all recorded, the boys, except for Niall, turn to look at him. “Thought you were bringing Harry along.” Liam says without looking up from his phone. Louis doesn’t even have to question him because the lad continues, “I didn’t hear his crutches.” 

“And hello to you to Liam. To answer your question, he didn’t feel like coming along.” Louis announces, clipping his sunglasses to the front of his shirt. He sits down beside Zayn. “Are we waiting on Niall?” 

Zayn chuckles. “Aren’t we always? Heard he had himself a little rendezvous last night.” 

“With?”

“Not a clue, but it better have been with the Queen herself. Julian’s pissed.” The dark-haired boy states, nodding towards one of their producers. He has long hair, similar to Harry’s if his was darker and thinner, and a broad build. He’s in the booth talking to their sound engineer, his face flushed red in color, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Can’t say I blame him though, Niall’s never on time.”

“It gets old real fast.” Liam says. 

Louis shrugs his coat off his shoulders. “He’s still young, man. Give him a break, we were all like that.”

"Yeah, whatever." he mumbles, rapidly typing a text message with both thumbs.

If Louis' not mistaken, Niall has always been popular with the ladies, and given their bout of fame, Louis can’t say he blames him for using it to his advantage. Hell, before he was with Harry he had his fair share of boyfriends, and even more sexual partners. 

“How is Harry doing? Is he ready for tomorrow?” 

Louis glances at Zayn, then away with a soft sigh. “He’s ready, but I’m not. I’m quite nervous about it actually.” 

“That’s understandable.”

“Everyone else is...no one else going has a disability, and I’m worried that they haven’t made the proper adjustments is all. I don’t want something to happen to him because everyone is too bloody ignorant to realize.” Louis unhooks his sunglasses from his shirt and unfolds the arm, bending them slightly as if accommodating them to fit his head better. “I won’t feel better about it until he’s stepping off the plane in a month and a half.”

Zayn reaches over, taking the sunglasses from him. He stops fidgeting and peers towards Zayn. “Bro, I hate to tell you this, but Harry’s been taking care of himself long before you came along. He’ll be okay, and if for some reason he isn’t, you’ll find a way to get to him.” 

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, heavily, “yeah, you’re right. He’s just such a big part of my life now, I would hate to lose him over something like this.” 

“You won’t, man. Harry knows what he’s doing.” he reminds, setting the sunglasses down on the coffee table. “Best thing you can do is relax and take it one day at a time.”

Julian steps out of the booth, looking around as if expecting to Niall to appear instantaneously. “He’s still not here?” Nobody answers, rather they all stare at the middle-aged producer in silence. “Fuck, again? Really? You know what, we’ll just record without him, and see how he fucking likes it. Come into the booth and we’ll get started.” He steps out of the doorway and takes a seat at the soundboard. The sound engineer joins him seconds later. 

Louis, Liam, and Zayn follow one another into the small recording booth. Each of them slips on a pair of headphones and steps in front of a microphone.

Momentarily, Julian’s American accented voice comes over one of the speakers in the booth. “Alright, we’re going to run through ‘Free Fall’. Liam take Niall’s first part, Louis his second, and we’ll see how it sounds, alright?” Before any of them have the chance to answer, he continues, “Alright, fantastic. Let’s hear it.” 

They run through the song in its four minute and thirty seven second entirety not once, but twice. Originally it was a line of words written on a used napkin at a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant in Houston, Texas, but after some revising and collaborating with Liam, Louis managed to write what may be classified as the best song on the album. It could get them nominated for another Grammy if all the promotion and fan reactions go to plan.

“I don't like the way it sounds. Zayn, why don’t you join Liam and harmonize on that first part?” Julian suggests through the speaker, using his hands to gesture the unity of two. He demonstrates the falsetto he wants them to match, and after a few tries, the two of them are able to find the correct pitch. “But your part sounds great Louis. Let’s just run through the first half of the song then, thanks guys.” 

They sing to the second verse as requested, and when finished, join Julian out of the booth for a playback. Since they have years of practice behind them, they’re relatively good at picking certain parts out and critiquing them or changing lyrics all together.  “Electric guitar.” Louis says under his breath when the chorus plays.

Julian pauses the song, looking to Louis, “What was that?” 

“The chorus needs something. What about plucking a few chords on an electric guitar? Might make it sound a bit more like a ballad anyway.” 

“Awesome, I love it.” Julian concludes immediately, not leaving it up for debate with the other lads as he jots it down in his notebook. 

Julian starts the track over, and they listen to the first part at least seven more times because each time someone has a new suggestion. Some decisions are as little as substituting a word for another while some are as large as slowing down the tempo entirely. 

As they listen to it for the eighth time consecutively, Louis’ phone blasts a dance tune from the opposing side of the room. Julian pauses the song, nodding for Louis to grab his phone.  “Sorry.” The blue-eyed boy mutters, walking quickly to tend to his phone. Upon reading the caller I.D., he sees Harry’s name flashing on his screen. Despite being upset with the way things have played out, he knows he should answer, in case something's wrong. “It’s my boyfriend, I -”

Julian raises his hands in surrender. “Not a problem, man. Take your time.” Usually, Julian grows irritated when their sessions are interrupted, especially at this time of year when the album needs to be ready to go in a matter of days, but he’s met Harry, and seems to have more compassion for the situation. 

Louis steps into the hallway, pressing the green ‘accept’ button on his phone, and puts the phone to his ear. “Hey love, I'm at the studio right now, can I call you -” 

Harry interrupts him, sobbing out a frazzled sentence. “I...help...Louis, please.” he cries.

Louis stops breathing for a second. “Babe, what's going on?” he asks, finding a straightened posture immediately. He doesn’t receive an immediate verbal reply, which is alarming enough without the added sobs of a distressed man who happens to be his boyfriend. “Harry, you there? Love?”

Harry doesn’t cry too often, though in this particular moment, he’s sobbing in a way Louis has never heard. Is this his way of wanting to back out of his flight tomorrow? Perhaps he doesn't want to go to Africa anymore, and while that's what Louis is hoping, part of him still feels weighed down. “What’s going on, Harry?”

“Lou...come...I can’t.” Harry tries to speak, but between his dysarthria and inability to calm himself down, his words won't string together. He's having an anxiety attack, Louis realizes, oh fuck he's  _ suffering _ , and I’m not there to help him. 

“It’s okay.” Louis hushes, cringing at Harry’s rampant breathing pattern. He needs to calm down, or he's likely to make it much worse. “Where are you babe? Are you home? Don't worry, I’ll come to you.” 

“No.” Harry whimpers, sounding wounded. “Market.”

The farmer’s market? Louis didn't even know he was heading into town today - no, Louis doesn't keep tabs on him all the time, he isn't possessive - and to be fair, it worries him that Harry is crying from the bloody farmer’s market. 

He pats his jeans in search of his keys, and is grateful to find them stuffed in his back pocket. “Okay, love, I’m leaving right now. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.” Louis promises, staying on the phone as he leaves the studio to go out to his car. The nice thing about their apartment’s location is it's basically at the heart of everything they could possibly need. The studio, the market, and some family are relatively nearby. “Try to breathe for me, babes. You’ve got to relax. In, and out, nice and slow.” he tries to guide.

They don't carry conversation as Louis drives to the market. Rather, Louis is content with listening to Harry’s breathing, assuring he’s still on the line, as he whispers words of encouragements every few moments to remind him he’s coming to help him.

Parking into a spot nearby, Louis rushes past the automated doors, searching the first few aisles for Harry. “I'm here, love. Where are you?” he asks.  For whatever reason, his crying increases in intensity again, leaving him unable to answer Louis. The thought of the unknown makes Louis’ skin itch. He doesn't have a clue what's going on, or what's wrong. 

It clicks with Louis, then. Restroom, he's in the restroom. He would never allow himself to break down in such a public area. So, he heads to the men’s restroom, and shoves open the door, though as soon as it opens, he wishes he hadn't come inside.

Blood is seeping out of Harry’s nose, down the front of his shirt, and his right eye is starting to swell, a purple hue starting to take over. At first glance, it seems that he fell, but then Louis notices how his crutches are thrown to the side, in such a manner that it was done on purpose. “Harry.” he whispers, and the younger boy breaks on spot, doubling over, sobbing, unable to catch his breath.

Louis doesn't know what to do. His voice catches in his throat as he stands opposite of Harry. Finally, he can process a coherent thought, and carries himself over to Harry, dropping to his knees, and takes the younger boys head in his hands. 

He’s a mess, and upon shifting closer to him, Louis sees another bruise forming around his jaw, and his wrists have fingerprints engraved in them, also bruising. He doesn't know what to say. What is he supposed to say? This isn't okay.

So, he pulls Harry’s head to his chest, running his hand through his hair. He's never heard anyone cry so hard, and honestly, it’s killing him. He can feel his heart shattering each time Harry cries out. His body aches. “I've got you now, babes, I’ve got you.” he whispers, lips pressing to the top of his head. Soon enough, he’s tugging Harry onto his lap, and rocking him back and forth as the curly lad buries his face in Louis’ shirt. 

Who would do this? What kind of sick fucking asshole would do this? Tears come to Louis’ own eyes, and he glances up at the ceiling, in attempt to make them disappear. “Shh, love, shh, it's gonna be okay, I’ve got you. You’ve got to catch your breath for me.”

What does he do from this point? His boyfriend was just assaulted in a fucking bathroom, so what does he do from this point to ensure Harry is safe? 

Harry finally pulls his face away from Louis’ chest. His face is puffy, flushed even, and his eyes bloodshot. “I didn't do anything wrong.” he whispers, then his body collapses in on itself once again, another cry plucking itself from his throat. 

“I know you didn't.” Louis kisses his face, over and over again. “I know love.” 

His nose is gushing crimson at this point. It’s all down his face, his clothes, on Louis’s shirt, the floor too. Louis reaches for the paper towel dispenser, waves his hand in front of it, until a brown pieces buzzes out. Yanking it off with a crisp flick of his wrist, he brings it to Harry’s nose, holding it underneath his nostrils. 

“He followed me.” Harry whispers, trembling beneath Louis’ touch. He wants to tell him to keep quiet, he doesn't need to talk right now, but the other part of him wants to, needs to, hear it. “And...and he took my crutches, tried to make me stand, held me up by my wrists…told me to stay standing…” he pauses, shutting his eyes as his lips clamp down on a whimper. “My legs gave out, and he yelled at me for being a cripple, and then…” He’s unable to finish, crying again at the thought.

Louis’ lips pull into a tight line at the unsettling thought. Someone hurt Harry, beat him up, because he can't stand. That's one of the most vile things he's ever heard of. “It's okay. We don't need to talk about this right now. Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks. Harry won't meet his eyes as he nods. “Where?”

“My chest.” 

His voice is so meek. It makes Louis feel sick. Harry isn't a meek person. He touches the bottom hem of Harry’s shirt. “Can I?” he asks, careful to not violate him.

Harry doesn't say anything, rather turns his face away from Louis, thus telling his boyfriend it’s okay. As soon as Louis pulls his shirt up, he wishes he hadn't, really wishes he hadn't. 

Harry’s flesh is no longer it’s usual peachy complexion, rather he’s covered in swelling purple and blue spots. A shiver shoots up Louis' spine. Someone did that to Harry, his Harry, actually took the time to kick him and punch him while he was down. His hand covers his mouth and his eyes helplessly search Harry’s face for his. 

Harry’s still crying, back of his head pressed to the wall as he keeps his head turned.

“I'm sorry baby, I’m so sorry.” Louis whispers, voice cracking despite his will to stay strong for Harry. Tears are freely falling before he has the chance to get them under control. What else can he say? A man purposely assaulted Harry with the intention of hurting him and nobody was there to help him. 

He touches Harry’s neck, letting his shirt fall back down to cover his bruised abdomen. “This shouldn't have happened, and I’m sorry.” he whispers, hand drifting from Harry’s neck to his arm, where he squeezes in reassurance. He's never been at such a loss for words or actions. 

God, he must have been so scared, and nobody was there to help him. Nobody thought to check on a man with a clear disability who’d been maliciously followed into the bathroom by a completely able one? 

“Let's get you home, and we’ll figure it out from there.” Louis suggests, eyes burning because looking at Harry is making his whole form contract with pity, and he's never pitied him before. 

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t want to stand.” 

“Then I’ll carry you.” Louis presses.

Not another word is spoken for several moments. Louis doesn't quite understand, but his comment has made Harry even more distressed. He covers his face with his hands, sobbing in his palms. “Just leave me here.” 

“I'm not going to leave you in a public bathroom to suffer, Harry.” he replies, calm. 

Harry meets his eyes, sharply whispering, “ _ He _ did.”

“ _ He _ was an awful human being. I'm your boyfriend, and I love you, and I’m going to take you home so you’re safe. If you don't think you can stand, then I will carry you.” He shifts positions so he’s kneeling. As he studies Harry’s form this time, he notices how twisted his legs are, in a way they perhaps shouldn't be. 

Harry meets his eyes, sniffling. “I don't know if I can.” 

Louis nods, acting as he would normally, treating it as a mundane situation. He doesn't need Harry feeling bad about himself on top of being in pain. “Let me know if you’re starting to hurt too much, and we’ll figure something else out.”

Harry doesn't say anything, meaning he understands. So, Louis curls one arm underneath his knees, after straightening his legs out, and the other curls around his back, then he rises to his feet. He isn't worried about anything else this moment. The bloody mess they've left can stay behind as can Harry’s crutches. He’ll figure it out later. Right now his focus is getting Harry home, so he knows he's safe. 

Harry presses his face into the side of Louis’ neck. He’s still sniffling and shaking, though he doesn't seem as traumatized as he had been when Louis first found him. 

People stare, of course, and despite Louis urging himself to scold all of them for letting this happen to his boyfriend, he brushes past them, holding Harry tight as he beelines past the cash registers and automated doors. Once they've made it to Louis’ car, he helps him settle in the passenger seat, and then climbs into the driver's seat. 

Neither of them say a word. Louis’ phone does vibrate against his thigh, meaning the lads have realized he's gone and won’t be coming back. They’ll have to wait as his only concern is getting Harry home safely. 

He looks to Harry the first time since entering the car at a red light, and his heart sinks. The younger boy is curled in on himself, facing the door. Sniffling comes from him, and Louis knows he's crying again.

A few more minutes pass. Finally, they're back at the flat. Louis puts the car in park, pulling the key from the ignition, and rounds the front to help Harry out. It's not exactly awkward, but the silence is not comfortable either. 

It doesn't help that Louis doesn't know what to say. After all, what does one say to their significant other after they've been a victim of a hate crime? That's what it is. Discrimination against disability led to his boyfriend having the holy hell beat out of him in a public restroom. 

Stepping into the flat is odd as well. It doesn't feel like a home, there's no comfort associated with it whatsoever, staring at their belongings makes him feel worse. Perhaps because they are all associated with good times, and this isn't one of those times. 

He takes Harry to their bedroom, lays him down in bed, pulls the blanket over him, and says, “I’ll be right back, love. Try to calm down for me, nothing's going to happen to you now.” 

As soon as he’s out of their room, he pulls his phone out, and upon seeing the missed calls from the boys and their producers, he decides to ring Zayn first. 

“Louis, where the hell did you go? You know we have to get the album out by the fifth. Every day matters.” The thick-accented boy says.

Louis swallows. “Do you think you can come ‘round my flat when you have time?” he asks instead.

“You're at your flat?” Zayn questions, then hesitates as though he's processing this new information. Louis’ known for doing a lot of stupid things, but he wouldn't up and go home in the midst of recording. “What happened?”

Louis sighs. “Harry’s hurt, and I don't know what to do.” 

A beat of silence passes. “He’s hurt?” 

“Somebody...somebody assaulted in a bathroom. I had to leave to get to him, and now he’s scared. I don't know what I should do.” 

“Someone beat him up?” Now, there's anger in Zayn’s tone. He’s not one to get angry often, but mess with people he cares about and his wrath comes out, full force. “Did you call the police? You should file a police report, and make sure you call his mum too.” 

Louis makes a mental note. Those are both very intelligent ideas, and they should have been blatant, but Louis can't seem to think straight knowing Harry is in pain and scared. “Right, okay.” he says.

“Is he alright?” Zayn asks.

“He’s bruised pretty badly. I don't think anything is broken though, which is good, but I can't get him to calm down. He’s really scared.” Louis admits, turning his head to glance over his shoulder. There's no noise coming from the bedroom which is either a really great thing or a really bad one. “I'm gonna make a few phone calls, but do me a favor, don't mention it to anyone.” 

“Course. I'll be around later.” Zayn answers, then the line goes dead. 

From there, Louis calls Anne, who immediately panics, saying she’ll be over as soon as possible, after he has a long conversation with a secretary at the police station. A detective will be around later in the night to speak with the two of them. 

He walks back into the bedroom, taking a seat on the bed beside Harry’s tense form. His hand presses to his hip, rubbing gentle circles against the clothed skin. “I hope you know that you didn't deserve what happened.” 

Harry doesn't acknowledge his comment. “Will you call Jean and tell her I can’t go to Kenya?” 

Any other day Louis would be happy that Harry has decided not to go, but seeing him in such a fragile state makes him wish he was going. Harry really wanted it, and like everything else, it was yanked right from underneath him.

“I will later, love.” Louis promises, scooting further back on the bed. He lays behind Harry, and uses his fingers to brush his hair from his face. The bruise around his eye is a dark purple, and the swelling is causing his eye to take on an almond shape. “Is there anything I can get for you? Do you want some ice for your eye?” he whispers.

“Why are you filing a police report?” Harry asks, again instead of answering his questions. Louis start to ask how he knows, but Harry answers before the words even leave his mouth. “I heard you talking on the phone.” 

“It needs to be done.” Louis replies, confused. Isn't it the right thing to do?

Harry scoffs. “It doesn't.” 

“Yes it does Harry. What happened isn't right, and that man shouldn't get away with what he did.” 

Harry slowly shifts to lay on his other side, now facing Louis. “He said it’s people like me ruining society.” Seeing him from this angle makes Louis realize just how badly he’s bruised. If the black eye didn't prove it, the bruise on his jaw certainly does. 

“That doesn't even make sense.” 

“Says I’m just lazy. If I actually tried, I could fucking stand, get a goddamn job, not rely on people like  _ you _ to take care of me.” Harry laughs, a bitter, sour laugh. “Fucking people like you! He's a fan of you, wouldn't you guess it?”

“Harry…” Louis sighs.

“Doesn't he know that if I  _ could _ stand, I would? I would give up the fucking world to stand, to walk, to run until my lungs bled.” His face contorts, and he’s crying once more. “I just want to be normal, Louis, that's all I want. I don't understand.”

Louis touches where his face isn't bruised, grazing the area with the pad of his thumb. “Harry, shh. Baby, you are normal, don't say that.” 

“Then why did he beat me until I couldn't  _ breathe _ ?” Harry whimpers, eyes searching Louis’ for an answer that isn't there. “Why did he throw me on the ground, and punch me until I could taste blood in my throat?” 

Louis struggles to answer. “I don't…”

Another cry leaves Harry, this time he rubs aggressively at his face, sobbing as he reels his mind for an answer. “See, you don't know because I’m not normal, and I’m a waste, and I’ll always be a fucking useless waste.” 

“You're gonna hurt yourself, stop, please.” Louis coos, pulling Harry’s hands away from his face. “Look at me Harry, that guy was fucking awful. It was a hate crime, okay? You didn't do anything wrong. He hurt you because he doesn't understand how wonderful it is to be different.” 

“I don't want to be like this anymore.” Harry cries, shaking his head. “I want to be normal.” 

Louis holds a hand to the back of Harry’s head and pulls him forward, cuddling him to his chest as he whispers, “You are normal. You're so special, sweetheart, so special.” 

He runs his hand through Harry’s hair, curling his fingers around the thick brown strands. “Why couldn't I protect myself, Louis? Why am I so fucking useless?” he breathes out, words coming out mumbled against Louis’ shirt. 

“You aren't useless. I don't know what that prick said to you, but it isn't true, and I don't want to hear you saying shit like that. It's not true.” Louis says, his voice soft. His hands moves from Harry’s hair and settles on his back, rubbing circles against his damp shirt, induced from sweat. 

He doesn't know what's worse. His 25 year old boyfriend crying in his arms over something he had no control over or the prick who’s out tonight having a drink, laughing with his friends with no remorse for leaving a man to bleed out on the dirty bathroom floor.

“He held me down.” Harry whispers, picking his head up to look at Louis. His nose has started to bleed again. Reaching for tissues on his side of the bed, he grabs a few and holds them to his nose. Though, the effort is a bit late, blood is already seeping into their pillowcases and comforter. “I tried to get up, but I...I couldn’t. So, he punched me, and…” Harry struggles to keep talking, but Louis doesn't say a word. One hand holds the tissues to his nose and the other grazes his cheek. 

The words don't come to Harry, rather his eyes tear up again, and he shuts them, causing tears to roll down his cheeks. Louis briefly wonders if he’ll ever be okay again. 

“You don't have to talk right now.” Louis whispers, kissing his forehead. 

So, he doesn't, instead the two of them lay there in silence. Louis rubs his back and Harry rests his head against Louis’ chest, listening for his steady heartbeat. 

The first interruption is when Anne comes over and cautiously walks into their bedroom. She pauses in the doorway upon presumably seeing how small and afraid Harry looks curled against Louis’ chest. 

Not a word leaves her. She inches toward the bed, glances at her son, holds in a comment about his injured face, then says, “I’ll make some tea. Why don't you bring him to the front room?” Which honestly translates to that detective will arrive soon, let's try to look a bit put together. 

As soon as she’s gone, Louis touches Harry’s neck. “Do you want me to grab your chair, love?” he asks.

Harry shakes his head. 

Louis assumes he wants to be carried, so that's just what he does, without further question. Once in the front room, Louis sits down on the couch beside him, but he won't stay sitting up. He lays his head down on Louis’ lap while the rest of his body curls inward. 

There isn't an argument on Louis’ behalf. Hell, he pushes for it, grabbing the throw blanket hung over the back of the couch and draped it over him. If what Harry needs is to be comforted, Louis has no problem aiding him. 

Moments later Anne resurfaces barring a small platter decorated with three tea cups. She sets it down on the coffee table, and Louis reaches for a cup first, blowing the steam away before having a sip, careful not to spill it on Harry. “Do you want some love?” he asks.

Again, Harry shakes his head. 

Anne purses her lips as she watches Harry. She offers him a smile once their eyes cross, but his only response is to cry. Louis feels his body tremble, so he sets the teacup down and rests his hand on Harry’s side, rubbing gently. “It's okay, love.” 

Harry presses his face against Louis’ thigh, sobbing yet again. Anne swallows, hands clasping together to rest on her lap, and meets Louis’ eyes. 

Louis is lost for words. He doesn't know how to help him. Maybe having a detective over is pushing it too far, perhaps it's unnecessary, but he can't let the man who unlawfully put his hands on his boyfriend walk away free, without any sort of consequence. 

They sit in silence, Louis rubbing Harry’s side with hushed words of encouragement, while Anne sips on her tea, blatantly uncomfortable. 

Harry’s cries eventually become mute, though his body still trembles with exasperation.

“What happened was wrong in every sense of the word love.” Anne says, hesitant. Her presence is making the weight of the situation so much worse, considering Harry knows she's been right all these years. He shouldn’t be left on his own because anytime he wins over the smallest bit of independence awful things like this happen. 

Her words aren't helping the situation, at all, rather he feels like some kind of invalid who just needs a talking to and everything will resolve itself. It's not that easy. He's been fighting who he is for over twenty years, and now someone has made a physical point of showing him that he's unwanted. Sure, there's been the verbal warnings, the printed ones, even the fucking mental ones, but no one has ever taken it to this extent. 

He shifts his position, face no longer pressed to Louis’ thigh, rather he lays on his back, eyes focusing on Louis’ stubbled jaw. “I'm sorry you have to deal with me.” he whispers, weakly smiling. 

Louis shakes his head, brushing Harry’s hair off his clammy face. He uses the pads of his thumbs to wipe the tears out from under his eyes. His left eye is so bruised that it’s swollen over, the white of his eye barely showing. “I think we need to get some ice on your eye babes. It doesn't look too good.” 

“And just to think my looks were all I had going for me.” Harry kids, forcing a laugh, though it may just be one of the most pathetic sounds Louis has ever heard. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, pulling back a streak of blood. 

“That's not true.” Louis sighs, then puts his attention on the blood residing on Harry’s hand. “I do think you need to sit up though. We’ve got to get that under control. Here, I’ll help you -” 

In the midst of Louis’ words and his action as he reaches to help Harry sit up, he's interrupted, “I can sit up just fine. I'm not an invalid.” 

“I never said you were.” Louis whispers, downcasting his eyes as his boyfriend withers in pain as he attempts to sit up right. His chest didn't look all too well when he had a look at it back at the market, he can't imagine how it must look, or feel, right this moment. “I'll grab you some ice, that sound alright?” 

Harry shrugs at him, turning his head to look over at the wall showcasing Louis’ awards and his own painting. 

“Why don't I grab it? Leave you two to yourselves for a moment.” Anne suggests, setting her teacup down on the table. Apparently it's not up for discussion because almost as soon as the words leave her, she's left them to tend for themselves. 

Louis looks to Harry whose jaw is clenched, evidently bruised, and the will to cry is there still. His body is hesitant, fighting the urge to double over into sobs, yet again. “If you want to talk about how you're feeling we can.” 

“I don't.” Harry snaps, though his tone lacks true venom. “I'm fine, but I’m really fucking mad that you would go over my head.”

“How did I go over your head?”

Harry scoffs, wiping at his face in pure frustration. “You fucking called my mum, and the police without even consulting me. I told you I’m fine, why would you do that?” 

“You keep saying that, but you're not.” 

“Not what?” Harry argues, snapping his head around to meet Louis’ eyes. “I'm not what?” 

Louis doesn't speak at first, one knee bobbing up and down with uncertainty. Harry looks bloody awful. His eye is one of the most grotesque and painful looking contusions he's ever seen. “You're not fine, Harry. Say what you want, but you aren't fine, and nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise. 

Harry sighs, shaking his head. “But I am, I’m fine.” 

Before Louis has the chance to answer, Anne returns, handing over a glass of water to Harry. “I think you should have a bit to drink, keep yourself hydrated.” Rather than arguing, Harry has a few small sips of the clear liquid, though his hands are trembling, then sets it off to the side. 

She holds out a rag, clearly wrapped in a tight ball to keep the ice in one place, and Harry cautiously takes it from her, pressing the cloth to his eye.

“Not so rough, Harry. You’re going to make it worse.” Anne sighs, reaching to pull his hand away from his face.

"Piss off." He sneers, jerking away from her touch. “It’s already fucking bad enough, don’t you think?” 

She doesn’t appear shocked by his rude nature, instead she’s a bit disgruntled, returning to have a seat with pursed lips. With genuine sympathy, Louis meets her eyes. He knows how Harry works, as she does, and acceptance is something that doesn’t seem to reside within him. 

A knock on the door emerges later in the evening, Anne goes to fetch it, and in walks a man dressed in a black button up and slacks to match. He’s middle aged, presumably no older than his forties, and he bares empathy. His copper hair is styled into a gelled quiff and there’s a tranquil sort of air that follows him into the flat. 

“Good evening, I’m DCI Oliver Burns, here to speak with you lot about the events that occurred earlier today.” He’s very professional, and not at all intimidating. His height proves him to appear even more relaxed, coercing him to take elongated strides as he walks closer to them, shoulders rolled back as a reminder of his rank. “You must be the lad that called the station. Mr. Tomlinson, right?” he asks, offering his hand.

Louis takes his hand, shaking it confidently, “Louis is just fine, detective Burns.” Upon releasing his grip, he looks to Harry, “And this is my boyfriend -”

“Harry Styles. Desmond Styles’ son. I worked under your father’s command for quite a few years, absolutely admired that man.” Oliver says, tipping his hat towards Harry.

Harry tries not to show disgruntlement towards his father’s colleague, but his feelings of envy are quite prominent. Forcing a smile, he mutters through clenched teeth, “Pleasure sir.” 

Though by the time he’s managed to say anything, Oliver has already turned to his mother, greeting her as though they’re old friends, which given the technicalities, they are. 

As they speak for the moment, Louis leans in closer to Harry. “Let me see.” he encourages, even goes so far to pull the makeshift ice pack from Harry’s eye. He winces upon seeing the swelling has hardly gone down, and the color has deepened even further. “How’s it feel?”

“It hurts a lot.” Harry admits.

“Keep the ice on there for a bit longer. Maybe we can get the swelling down some.” Louis suggests, allowing Harry to cover his eye once more. 

As soon as Oliver has a seat beside Anne she jumps at the opportunity to make him a cup of tea - with extra milk and sugar, as per requested - which leaves the three of them sat looking at each other.

Oliver sets a small device in the center of the coffee table. Louis guesses it’s a tape recorder. 

Once a notebook is sprawled across the detective’s legs, pen gripped between his fingers, he clears his throat, then states, “You must have some basic understanding of how these things work, so I assume you understand that this interview will be recorded.” 

“Yes.”

“Brilliant,” Oliver nods, jotting a few words down at the top of his lined paper, “Note that the interview has commenced at 18:32. I think we should start with getting an official statement from you Harry.”

The professional speech starts to bother Louis, ever so slightly. He recognizes Harry was involved in a crime and it should be treated as such, but the law enforcement jargon makes him slightly uncomfortable. It’s six thirty at night, yet the detective is speaking of it in military time, and while the difference may be only a slight change, Louis can’t help but feel odd. 

Harry glances to Louis, his uncertainty clear. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I just need you to walk me through what happened, that’s all. I currently have two members of my team stationed at the market. Sergeants’ Katelyn Michol and Connor Gibson are occupied with interviewing any witnesses, obtaining the security footage, and collecting any evidence deemed useful.” 

“Oh.” Harry say, wetting his bottom lip with a swipe of his tongue. “Um, I was getting some things for my trip, usually one of the workers pushes a cart around for me...and I felt like somebody was following me, but I wasn’t sure, so I just kept walking through the market...then I had to use the loo, so I…” he swallows, eyes becoming a bit teary as he recalls the events from earlier in the day. “I...went to the bathroom, and it’s um, it’s a singular one, right? There was a faulty lock, so I...I continued on anyway.” He stops speaking, swallowing thickly as his hand clings to his thigh, twisting the sweatpant material around his fingers.

“Go on.” Oliver encourages.

Louis bites his lip as he listens to Harry retell the story. He can’t bear to look at him as he struggles to make his words form cohesive sentences. Nodding along as Harry’s words begin to slur together, making less and less sense as they loop together, he peers at Oliver, who continues to jot down bullet points, presumably. 

“The door...it slammed shut all of a sudden, and this...this really big guy came in. I...um, I tried to ask him…” His voice cracks, and Louis finally looks to him, jaw clenching as he starts to cry beside him. He grabs Harry’s shoulder, kneading his thumb into the tense flesh in attempt to coax him.

“Ask him what Harry?” 

Louis can hardly believe his ears. His boyfriend is struggling to speak, and this investigator just continues to provoke answers from him. He wants to stand up for Harry, tell Oliver to give him a second, but he knows his place, and he knows it is above him to cause disruption. “Ask him what he was doing...um, he came closer...knocked me to the floor. I...couldn’t.” A soft cry leaves him, and he rubs at his face, apologizing quietly as he tries to find the strength to speak again. “He drug me to my feet...held me against the wall by my arms…” 

Louis’ heart can’t take Harry’s unsteadiness. He stands, walking around Harry to grab the forgotten glass of water, and sits back beside him, holding the glass to his lips. “Here, have some water love. It’s okay, take your time.”

Oliver’s penmanship scratching against the paper is the only noise filling the void of silence aside from Harry’s gulps as he drinks. Louis pulls the glass away, holding it on his lap with one hand while his other holds Harry’s cheek.

Meanwhile, Anne walks back into the room, stoic look forced upon her features. She sets a mug down in front of detective Burns, then has a seat on the couch beside him. 

Harry tries to offer Louis a smile, but as soon as his lips part, his body sinks with another bout of crying. He must know that they need to get through it though because he begins speaking past his whimpers again. “He told me he was going to let me go and I was to stand. I’m...I’m obviously disabled, I can’t stand on my own, um...so...I fell...I fell on the floor again. Um, it’s a bit unclear after that, but...he started…” Harry pauses, hand shielding his mouth to conceal a cry. 

“Take your time, babe. He can wait.” Louis whispers, clutching Harry’s kneecap. 

Harry’s breathing so heavily, chest puffing in and out at a abnormal pace. Louis wouldn't be surprised if he fell into another anxiety attack, though it's the last thing he wants. “He started screaming in my face.”

“And what did he say?” Oliver asks, glancing up at Harry with a relatively patient appearance. 

“What didn't he say?” Harry chuckles, a very solemn chuckle, as he looks down at his lap. “I’m spastic, a gimp, retarded, a cripple.” he says, softly, face contorting as he thinks about it. “He hit me the first time because ‘I talk like I’m retarded.” 

Louis feels sick. He glances up at the ceiling, then shuts his eyes as he tries to remain calm. That's not okay. Oh God, that's really not okay. 

Oliver seems to feel a bit tense as well. “I’m terribly sorry, Harry. Do you remember how many times he hit you?”

“I don't know.” Harry admits, tugging on his sweatpants. “It started to blur together. Um, he hit me in the face...probably four or five times. Then he…” he pauses, gathering his thoughts. “He kicked me a lot of times, I don't know how many, um felt like I couldn't breathe. There was a lot of blood.”

“Why do you think he stopped?” Oliver asks. 

Harry shrugs. “I couldn't tell you. Last thing he did, yanked my hair, slammed my head against the wall, went on some tangent about cripples ruining society. He left after that.” 

“Thank you for talking to me, Harry.”

Harry instantly breaks then. There were tears beforehand as he was explaining himself, but he managed to get through it without losing control of his emotions, and Louis is so proud of him for that. He did better than Louis could've hoped for. 

He wraps an arm around Harry, tugging him against him, and runs his fingers through the younger boy’s curls as he sobs against his neck. “It's alright, sweetheart. I know it's hard for you.” he presses his chin to the top of Harry’s head. “Is there anything else you need from him?” 

Oliver sighs. “I do need photos of his injuries as well as a description of what the man looked like.”

“Okay, we can do that.” Louis replies, kissing Harry’s head before pulling away. “We’re almost done here, promise.” 

Harry nods, keeping his head lolled against Louis’ shoulder as he slowly explains what the man who attacked him looked like. “Tall, over six foot, um muscular, I guess. Dark hair, black I think, it was long, not as long as mine though, um don't know what color eyes.”

“Okay, any identifying features? Tattoos? Piercings? Birthmarks even?” 

“He had a few tattoos here.” Harry touches the anterior part of his forearm. “Some scripture, I think. He had one around his ankle too, a snake I’m pretty sure.” 

Oliver nods at him, shutting his notebook after he jots down the rest of his notes. “I need a few photos of your injuries.”

Harry doesn't exactly feel comfortable with that, but he understands what needs to be done. “Okay.” he whispers, sitting up as Oliver approaches him with the camera. First, he takes a full photo of Harry’s face, then of each profile. From there he has Harry lift his shirt up, and snaps a few pictures of his chest and stomach

“You did a great job, son. I’ll contact you if there's a change in lead or if we need any more information from you.” Detective Burns says, shaking Harry’s hand. He turns on his heel, walking over to his seat so he can collect his things into his briefcase. “Before I go, can I have a word with you Mr. Tomlinson? Ah, I mean Louis.” 

“Of course. The kitchen’s fine.” he presses a quick kiss to Harry’s lips, then stands, maneuvering into the kitchen. 

Oliver joins him a few moments later, standing opposite of him. He sets his grey briefcase down on the counter-top, facing Louis. “Cerebral palsy is considered to be a developmental disability.”

“Right, I know.” Louis replies, uncertain of where this conversation will take them. “Why does it matter?”

“You need to know that his case is going to be founded primarily on that, and if the case makes it to trial, which is a strong if, that's what the focus will be.”

Louis sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, though he doesn't speak, yet. 

“Without cerebral palsy, there wouldn't be much to build on. So, just know that the reason this case is going to go anywhere is because he's disabled.”

Louis meets Oliver’s eyes, leaning forward on the counter-top as he processes this. “If it wasn't for cerebral palsy, he wouldn't have been the victim of a hate crime.” 

“Right you are.” Oliver shifts his weight to one leg, arms crossed over his chest. “I wouldn't normally take on a case like this. It's not exactly my specialty, usually I deal with more serious offenses.” 

“Oh, and this isn't a serious offense?” Louis asks.

“It is, but my unit is often occupied with homicides.” Oliver explains, peering around the kitchen as if admiring it. “His father was a great man, and if I promised Des one thing, it was to take care of his family if they ever needed it. I owe it to that man, after all he's the reason I’m able to pursue my career.” 

Louis isn't exactly content with his reasoning, but nonetheless understands he has to remain professional. “I'm glad you have a motive for helping my boyfriend, but don't forget, he's more than his father's son, and certainly more than a disability.” 

“Of course I understand.” Oliver says, dry, as though his compassion and professionalism has been insulted. “I am worried about him though.”

“Why’s that?”

Oliver hesitates as if what he's about to see is going to harm Louis’ ego. “I'm going to order a psychotherapist come evaluate him immediately.”

“He doesn't do well with therapy. I don't think that's a very good idea.” 

“If this case goes any further, if it goes to trial, I want him fit to attend, hopefully even speak. Psychologically, he needs assistance, maybe someone can help to lift his psyche.” Oliver reaches for his briefcase, pulling it off to the counter so it rests at his side. He reaches in his pocket, withdrawing a crisp white business card. He hands it to Louis. “Here's my card, call if there's anything I can do. A Dr. Eloise McCarthy will be here to speak with you early tomorrow morning.” 

With those words, Detective Burns finds his way out of their home, leaving Louis behind in a stunned manner. 

This can't be happening.

 

 

 

 

Eloise is a twenty something year old who lacks experience. Her light blonde hair is pulled back into a sleek bun and a pair of brown frames reside on her face. Pink lipstick and luscious lashes accommodate her structured features. Harry quickly arrives to a conclusion as soon as he hears her black pumps thump against the floor and she thrusts her hand out to greet him; she’s far too attractive for this profession.

Harry refuses to speak with her, though it's not surprising. She tries everything with her soft spoken voice, but Harry sits opposite her, completely deadpan as he stares at the wall behind her. 

She tries to pry into his life too early into their session. Frankly, he doesn't want to talk about his father’s death, or his mother’s forcefulness, or how he’s so useless he allowed someone to physically and verbally attack him in a restroom. 

“We’ll try again at a later date.” she promises, bidding him goodbye.

As soon as the front door clicks into place, Louis emerges from the kitchen, taking a seat beside Harry. He kisses Harry’s cheek. “How’d it go?”

“Why does everyone think I need mental help?” Harry asks, meeting Louis’ eyes. “It hasn't even been twenty four hours. I need time to think.”

“I know you do babe.”

He lays his head on Louis’ arm. “I don't think I ever thanked you for saving me yesterday, so thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me. You're my boyfriend, and I love you, and I would do anything for you. I want you to remember that, okay?” he leans down, pressing a kiss to Harry’s head. 

“I love you too. I don't know what I would do without you.” Harry admits, shutting his eyes as he goes lax against Louis.

There’s a part of Louis who feels responsible for all that happened. After all had he and Harry not felt so tense towards one another, Harry would have been at the studio with him, not enduring the physical and emotional turmoil from a bad experience yesterday. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Louis asks, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he waits for permission to continue.

“Okay.” Harry answers, waiting for a further introduction. He appears to be confused. 

Louis hesitates. “That man...he didn’t…you know...” Despite carefully plotting his wording, the question has trouble flowing correctly, and sounds incomprehensible. 

“Sexually assault me?” Harry asks before Louis has the chance to stutter the rest of it out. Rather, Louis nods, afraid to hear the candid answer. “No, he kept his pecker in his pants.” Oh, does Harry have a way with words. Such a way he never fails to make Louis the slightest bit uncomfortable. “He - he allowed me a bit of dignity. Guess beating me senseless made him hard enough.” 

The thought of Harry being physically assaulted is enough to make Louis nauseous, but even the idea of a man bigger than Harry, stronger than Harry, a man who could easily see Harry’s limitations holding him down and violating him enrages him. 

“Why don't you come to the studio with me today? You can bring your art stuff.” Louis suggests, thinking that perhaps he’ll get his mind off of it if he allotted some independence.

Harry shakes his head. “I don't want anyone to see me like this.” 

“It isn't that bad, Harry.” Louis replies, eyeing his boyfriend. Then, Harry looks up at him as if making a point of showcasing his bruised and swollen facial features. “Okay, so your face is bruised, so? You know the boys won't say anything if you don't want them to.” 

“I don't want anyone's pity. I'm not going.” Harry mumbles, pulling away from Louis. Very slowly, he lays on the arm of the couch, tucking his legs onto the sofa as well. 

Louis watches Harry with a confused expression. “Is there something else bothering you?” 

“You mean aside from being violently assaulted and being unable to defend myself?” Harry snaps, then shuts his eyes as they start to prickle with impending tears. “No, other than being a fucking weakling I’m fantastic.” 

“Love I’m just trying to make you feel better.” Louis whispers. 

Harry scoffs, “Well you’re shit at it.” Involuntarily, his body tenses and he shrinks in on himself with a frustrated cry. 

“Harry…” Louis moves to grasp Harry’s leg, and squeezes. “It's alright, you don't have to go through this alone.” 

He buries his face against the material of the couch, choking on another cry. Louis doesn’t say anything, moving his hand to rub Harry’s leg, and sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s forced to listen to his boyfriend cry, again.

When Harry moves his head to look at Louis, he says, “I didn’t want to press charges. Please, tell the police to stop looking for him. I - I can’t face him in a courtroom, please Louis.” His body cowers, this time with a silent cry, and he uses his sleeve to wipe at his nose. 

“Harry I-” 

Harry shakes his head. “Please, don’t make me do this.” 

“Babe, I can’t just tell them to stop looking for the guy who assaulted you. That’s not fair to you.” Louis whispers, looking away when his comment makes the distress Harry’s in much worse. 

“I don’t-” He’s interrupted by his own crying- “I don’t  _ care _ . I’m begging you to just let it go.” His muscles are contracting from being exceedingly  overwhelmed.

Louis can hardly understand him when he’s this upset, but the word ‘begging’ stands out instantly. God, just yesterday Harry begged and pleaded for that man to stop using ableist language, to stop hitting him, and to stop kicking him, but he didn’t.  “Okay, shh, okay. I’ll call him and tell him we don’t want any part in it.” he reaches for his phone on the coffee table, leaving one hand on Harry’s leg. He’s trembling under Louis’ touch. “Breathe, it’ll be alright.”

Harry shakes his head, shakily wiping at his tear-stained face. “Please.”  

“I’ll ring him now, sweetheart. I promise you, it’s okay.” He rises to his feet, and glances at Harry once more before taking the phone call out to the balcony. Looking at Harry, a man who’s taller and broader than Louis will ever be, as he is now, trembling and weak, is heartbreaking. Once out on the balcony, he leans against the railing, staring down at the London traffic on this beautiful, windy day. The weather contrasts the mood of his household so much it nearly makes him sick.

He dials the number Oliver left for him, and after three rings, the gruff man answers. “DCI Burns, what can I do for you?” 

“This is Louis Tomlinson, I-” 

“Hello Louis, what can I do for you?” he asks. “I heard Harry’s session with Dr. McCarthy this morning didn’t go as well as we had hoped.” 

Rather than answering him, he splurges on his original thought, “I’m calling in regards to the search for the man who assaulted Harry. He doesn’t want the search to continue, in fact he doesn’t want to have anything to do with it.”

“I see.” Burns says, unamused. “You do realize that it’s damn near impossible to call off a case once it’s been started, don’t you?”

Cars honk in the distance while another’s engine roars with the speed it passes at. Louis sighs. “I understand, but don’t you have some sort of confirmation period before you can begin? Harry is going through enough stress, and...and this is only going to make it worse.”

While this phone call feels quite tense and awkward, it’s not even remotely comparable to the one he had to make to Jean last night. She was disappointed and upset to hear Harry wouldn’t be joining her and her other recruited artists, but she didn’t sound as though she believed anything Louis said. He wasn’t completely honest, rather he told her Harry had been in an accident, which prevented him from traveling. 

“So, you don’t want any further action taken?” Burns asks. 

Louis thinks about it for a moment. He wants to help Harry, and if this is what Harry needs, then Louis has to do it for him. “That’s what I’m saying yes.”

“Very well. I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Thank - “ The detective hangs up- “you.” Louis mutters as an afterthought. He hates to be so indecisive, but he needs for Harry to pull through. He doesn’t expect his boyfriend to recover quickly, that would be absurd, though he hopes he can help to move the process along, without pushing him. 

He walks back into the flat, deciding to leave the glass door open since a nice, fresh breeze is blowing around outside. Maybe it can help to lift someone’s mood. If not Harry or himself, maybe Anne. She stayed the night to keep an eye on Harry, and for once Harry didn’t argue with her presence. 

Greeting him when he walks into the living room is the sight of Harry sitting up on the couch, staring at the wall with watery eyes. “I called, and he said he would take care of it for us.” Louis says, then takes a seat beside Harry. “Are you alright?” 

Harry shakes his head. “Every time I open my eyes…” He stops to catch his breath. The lack of noise creates an uncomfortable tension. “Every time I open my eyes all I can see is a fist, Louis. I- I’ve never been...I’ve never been in a situation quite like that, and I don’t know what to do. I want to push it behind me, so badly, but I can’t.” 

“It’s because you push everything else in your life behind you, Harry. You’re so afraid of being honest and open with yourself, but at some point, you’ve gotta let go and face your fears. This isn’t like anything else, and you can’t block it out this time.” 

“But I want to.” 

Louis shakes his head, pushing Harry’s hair behind his ear. “I know you do, but you can’t. This isn’t something you can brush off, love, and I know it’s a strange feeling, but it’s gonna take time. It was a traumatic event, and now you have to trust the people around you to help.”  

“I don’t know what to do.” Harry whispers, rubbing his eyes. “I want to be okay with it.” 

Louis hesitates. “I think you need to talk to someone who specializes in this sort of thing, babe. I know you hate therapy, but I’m at a loss. I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m dealing with.” 

“I always manage to mess things up.” Harry sniffles, chin dropping to touch his chest as he looks down at his lap. “I can’t do anything right.” 

“This wasn’t your fault.” Louis shushes him, touching his bruised cheek. “You said it yourself yesterday, you didn’t do anything wrong. He had no reason to put his hands on you, and I hope you know…” His own eyes start to water. “I hope you know that I love you more than anything in this world, and if there was more I could’ve done yesterday, I would’ve done it. No matter what that knob said to you, you’re not retarded, and you’re definitely not useless. I don’t want you to think what he said was justified, it wasn’t.”

Harry doesn’t say anything as he fidgets with the material of his sweatpants. 

“You didn’t deserve that kind of abuse, and it makes me so angry, knowing some fucking belligerent man came along, saw you had a disability, and thought it was okay to attack you.” Louis shakily exhales, brushing his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. “And I - I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, Harry, but you didn’t deserve to be treated that way. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.” 

Harry glances at him, eyes still bloodshot, and his face again contorts before the crying starts again. Louis immediately wraps his arms around him, engulfing him with comfort as he pulls him against his chest. Harry buries his face into Louis’ neck. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you.” 

 

 

 

 

 

A therapy session, a few more bouts of tears, and five days pass by before Harry starts to act a bit more like Harry again. 

“Thanks for doing this, Lou.” Louis says, watching as his personal hair and makeup artist uses foundation and a sponge to cover Harry’s bruises. They’re still rather purple in appearance, but are slowly fading to a dark green shade.

Lou looks back at him as though he’s gone mad. “Anything for you, you know that, and anyways I think Lux found herself a new best friend.” she points out, looking to her daughter sat on Harry’s lap. She takes a piece of his hair, and twists it around her index finger, laughing when it bounces back into position after release. He smiles at her, biting back a laugh when she does it again, and again, and once more for good measure. She presses the sponge back to the top of her hand where she’s poured some of the foundation onto, then dabs at the bruise around Harry’s eye. 

The BRIT Awards are tonight, and One Direction are presenters as well as possible recipients of awards. Everything is on track to be successful, considering they finished the album this morning, so it can go through the whole publication process before it’s initial release in over a month.

This is also Harry’s first public outing with Louis, aside from the low quality photographs that paparazzi's haven taken on their numerous dates. He’s having him, along with Liam and Zayn’s girlfriends, walk the red carpet with the band.

Lux giggles as Harry tickles her sides, burying her face into his chest. 

“Quite the troublemaker, aren’t you? Just like your boyfriend.” Lou teases, dabbing the sponge against his face a few more times. She slips a finger under his chin, lifting his head up to see if she’s missed any spots. “Alright, love, I’m going to go over it with a loose powder, and then you can change.”

“Great, thanks.” 

He shuts his eyes when he sees the black brush covered in flesh tones coming towards his face. Though, he has to admit the feeling of the synthetic fibers dancing against his cheekbones and jaw is relaxing. “You have such a nice complexion, my God.” Lou compliments as soon as she tucks the brush away and Harry opens his eyes. 

“Thanks.” Harry smiles at her as Lux takes his bottom lip between her fingers, tugging on it with a giggle. 

Lou laughs. “Alright Lux, we’ve gotta let Mr. Harry and Louis change, c’mere.” she picks Lux up and sets her on the ground. “We’ll leave you two to it then.” 

“Thanks again, Lou. We’ll see you in a little bit. Bye Lux!” Louis calls after them. As soon as the dressing room door shuts behind the mother and daughter duo Louis turns to face Harry. “Ready to change?” 

“Course I am.” 

Louis knows how long it takes for Harry to change, so he made sure to plot enough time beforehand for them to do so. He grabs the folded stack of clothes and sets them on the dresser beside where Harry is sitting. 

Harry is going to wear a brown and beige geometric suit with a black button-up blouse underneath the suit jacket while Louis is going to match him, wearing a beige suit jacket, but the rest of his ensemble will be black. Harry’s very adamant about fashion, and he’s not afraid to try risky pieces. Maybe he should be the one in the band given none of the members of the band care even remotely about high fashion. 

“Let me know if you need a hand.” Louis reminds as he starts to strip his ripped skinny jeans and oversized sweater off his body. Harry has to stay seated when he changes which is what makes it such a tedious task for him. He told Louis the hardest part is his pants because of the way his legs abnormally curve. 

By the time Louis has pulled on all three pieces of his ensemble, Harry’s still pulling his other leg out of his sweatpants. So, Louis takes a seat, scrolling through notifications on his phone, as he waits for Harry to prepare himself. 

“Uh, Lou?” Harry laughs a few minutes later.

Louis sets his phone down, looks over at him, and can’t help but smile when he sees the grin spanned across his lips. “Yes, love?”

“Help me button my shirt?” Harry asks, laughing when his fingers fumble with a button for the fourth time. “They make the buttons tinier each time, I swear.” 

Louis stands, walking over to Harry. He leans down and takes one small black button at a time through each designated buttonhole. “There we go. You got your jacket, babe?” 

“I think I can manage that, but don’t go too far, yeah?” Slowly, he tugs his suit jacket on, then looks up at Louis. “I reckon we’re good to go.” 

Just as he says the words, one of the PR guys comes around and knocks on their door, telling them to be at the car in two minutes, so they can drive to the O2.  “I guess we have to be.” Louis mutters. He strides to the other side of the room to grab Harry’s crutches, which were rightfully returned a few days ago, and brings them back to the younger boy. One by one, he hands them off the Harry, then takes a step back to give Harry room to stand. He does, though he stumbles over his feet. “All right?” 

Harry nods. “Just lost my footing, I’m good.”

Louis waits for him to take a few steps before feeling reassured, then he walks in front of him, holding the door open. The two of them walk down the long hallway, side by side, until finally arriving outside. A large black limousine expands across the driveway, and from the looks of it Liam, Zayn, and Niall are already crammed inside with their dates. 

Holding the door open for Harry, Louis waits for Harry to bend down and get adjusted in the seat. He needs there to be a particular order in exiting the car when they arrive at the venue. He needs to get out first, so he can then help Harry out, and he wants Zayn on Harry’s other side, in case he were to trip. Other than that, it doesn’t matter what order everyone else is in.

Once Harry is settled, Louis grabs the crutches from Harry and hands them off to the chauffeur to stick in the trunk. Sliding into the seat beside Harry, he shuts the door behind him. 

“Oh, don’t you look nice.” Gigi, Zayn’s girlfriend, says in her usual slow voice she puts on just for Harry. She wears a short black dress with long sleeves and a plunging neckline. Zayn has a protective hand sprawled across her bare thigh. “Must be a nice change for you.”

Harry furrows his brows. “What does that mean?”

“Sorry, what?” Gigi asks, tilting her head to the side. She leans in closer as if it’s going to change how he pronounces his words. 

Louis raises his eyebrows at Gigi because, well, she can’t be  _ serious _ , can she? Harry was very clear, and even enunciated better than he normally would considering she’s been a bit rude about it in the past. 

Harry shakes his head, mumbling a quiet, “Nevermind.”

“He asked you what you meant.” Louis blurts out, glaring at Gigi. “He’s not stupid, and he speaks clear enough. Feel free to treat him as you would anyone else.” He glances over at Harry, offering him a subtle wink. Harry smiles at him.

“I-” Gigi shakes her head, flustered- “I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Louis shrugs his shoulders. Needlessly said, it causes an awkward tension to cross over the back of the limo. If any conversation occurs, it's subdued and quiet so the majority doesn't hear it. 

As they approach the O2, Louis grabs Harry’s hand, interlacing their fingers, and squeezes. “Are you nervous?” 

Harry nods. “Very.”

“Don't be. It’ll be a walk in the park for you. Like I told you love, we’ll walk the red carpet, you’ll stand beside me as I do my interviews, and then we’ll find our seats. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to.” 

Harry gestures for him to come closer, then cups his hand around his mouth as he whispers in Louis’ ear, “I hope I don't fall.” 

Louis shivers at the sensation of Harry’s hot breath blowing against his ear. “You won't, darling. I'll make sure of it.” 

Harry kisses his ear, then rests his head on his shoulder, shutting his eyes as they sit in traffic for a few moments more. 

Finally, they come to a stop, and the driver announces they've arrived. As planned, Louis climbs out first, waving at the group of fans waiting for them, and takes the crutches from the driver. He hands one to Harry, waits for him to slip his arm through the cuff, then hands him the second. 

Harry pushes himself onto his feet, without stumbling this time. Louis smiles at him, then slips a hand to rest on the small of his back. He knows Harry’s worried the most about people making fun of the way he walks since they're going to view it in high definition on their televisions and live streams, but Louis told him if they judge him for it, then shame on him.

Because yes, Harry doesn't walk as an able bodied man would, but it doesn't take away from his integrity or character. Louis’ thinks it's one of his best qualities, not because it’s interesting, but because it’s what makes him different. His knees knock together and his legs curve inward as he walks side by side with Louis, though Louis isn't fazed by the slow pace they walk at, he never is.

Once they’re in front of the photographers, the eight of them pause, posing for the cameramen as they shot out instructions from all different directions and flash their cameras. Louis can tell Harry’s a bit uncomfortable as he's looking down at his feet, so he locks his arm around Harry’s. 

Suddenly, the photographers are ready to move on to the next celebrity - The 1975 - so they're being told to move along. “They're quite rude, aren't they?” Harry whispers to Louis. 

“Yeah, but they get a lot of money for these kind of photos. It's a race to the finish for them.” 

“Louis! Louis, over here!” A lady with a microphone shouts at them, gesturing for them to walk over. Louis guides Harry at a pace he can keep up with, then they come to a halt as they stand beside the frivolous lady, A large camera is pointed towards them and the microphone is thrusted in front of Louis’ face. Harry stands adjacent to him, eyes downcast until Louis reaches behind him and brushes his fingers against his hand. “It's great to see you again Louis. You're looking dapper as always, I see you and your boyfriend are matching, who are you wearing?”

“Marc Jacobs.” Louis answers, simply.

Then, the lady pushes the microphone in front of Harry. “And you, Harry?”

Harry doesn't say a word, rather steps to the side, so he's hidden behind Louis’ frame. 

Louis feels bad for him. “He's a bit shy. It's a Gucci suit. He looks fabulous doesn't he?” 

“Yes, very nice. So, are you looking forward to your night?” 

Labeled on the microphone is ‘Channel 4’, also known as the plague of British media. They've had some awful things to say about One Direction in the past, but Louis knows he has to force a smile and continue on with it. He doesn't want a rude press story written about himself. “Very much so. Let's see, we’re up for three awards which is extremely exciting, and I get to spend the night with my beautiful boyfriend, so yeah, I’m buzzing.”

“We’re all so happy for you. You know, we’d love to hear Harry speak a bit about his art. A few sources have said he’s extremely talented, and he's even gone as far to sell some pieces.” 

Louis glances back at Harry who is shaking his head, keeping his eyes focused down on the red carpet. “He's just getting over a cold, so I’m afraid he can't speak much. But to answer your question, yes, he's extremely talented and a few months ago he sold some of his art at an exhibition.”

“How long has he been an artist?” 

Louis decides to stop the interview before it goes any further. “We both appreciate your interest, but Harry and I aren't comfortable in declaring our personal lives to the world. We’re just here for the music, thank you.” 

“Right, of course. Who are you looking forward to seeing tonight?” she asks.

“The 1975.” Harry says, quietly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I've been a fan for a long while.”

Louis turns to look at him, again. “Oh, that's right. They are performing aren't they? It’ll be good, but I'm looking forward to Adele myself.” 

“Oh yeah, Adele’s great.” Harry whispers back to him.

“Here comes Rihanna! Doesn't she just look stunning?” The woman stares past them, then glances back at them, forcing a smile. “Alright, thanks for talking to me boys. We’ll see you inside!” 

A few more interviews later, and Harry’s a bit more confident, despite saying only a few words for each camera. Louis’ proud of him nonetheless. 

After entering the O2, they find it difficult to get Harry to his seat because it's so crowded and no one is sat down for the opening number yet. The lads and their girlfriends are already sat around the table, and they're waiting on Louis and Harry. But the last thing Louis needs tonight is Harry stumbling and falling while trying to push past chairs and bodies.

He leaves a hand on his back as he glances around for another route to the table ignorantly placed in the center of all the chaos. He feels Harry's muscles tense, so he begins rubbing circles along his backside. “It's alright, love. You doing okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Harry whispers. 

Suddenly, Niall appears and nods for them to follow. “There's hardly anyone if you follow me and come ‘round this way.” 

Louis never thought he would ever be thankful for Niall, but in this moment, he’s nothing but. The walk is a bit longer than he anticipated, but it's alright, Harry doesn't seem bothered by it. “There they are! I was starting to get worried, thought the two of you snuck off to get a little frisky.” Liam kids as they take a seat.

Harry blushes, peering down at the table. “No.” he whispers. 

"Not yet." Louis clutches Harry's thigh under the table, running his thumb over the inner side of his leg. 

The award show kicks off about twenty minutes later. England’s most beloved girl group, Little Mix, perform their brand new single, refusing to miss a beat as they dance simultaneously. Harry watches in awe, chin resting in the palm of his hand with his mouth agape. He seems to be in disbelief about something. 

“They're quite talented, aren’t they?” Louis whispers to him. 

“Quite. I’ve heard their music, but I’ve never seen them before.”

“Don't tell me you've fallen madly in love with one of them, and you're going to leave me to chase after her.” Louis taunts, then presses a kiss to his cheek, “You're limited to only one band member, and it's me.” 

“I’ve just realized I went to school with the blonde one, Perrie, we were friends in secondary school.” Harry says, observing Perrie as she belts her solo. “She was one of the only people that was always very nice to me, I'm glad she's doing well for herself.” 

“You're serious? I write music for Little Mix sometimes. It’s a small world we live in, I guess.”

Harry glances over at him. “Yeah? Well, if you talk to her soon, tell her Froggy said hi and give her my number or something.”

“I will, but why Froggy?”

“Some of the kids use to make fun of the way I walked, so they called me ‘frog legs’ up until I graduated. When I told Perrie about it, the name Froggy was born, but she never called me it to be cruel.” 

Louis chuckles. “That's very peculiar.” 

“Yes, but she's very nice.” Harry says, peering back towards the stage as the girls finish their number. He claps for them, and as he’s doing so, he swears Perrie looks his way, but he knows he's most likely mistaken. Still, it's refreshing to see such a pleasant and familiar face. 

Between a few awards being dished out, some performers including The 1975, Adele, and Lily Allen take the stage. 

After the cameras cut from Lily Allen, they zoom in on the next presenters, Emma Watson and Eddie Redmayne. The next award is for British Group and One Direction is nominated alongside Arctic Monkeys, The 1975, Mumford and Sons, Muse, and Coldplay. 

“And the winner is..." A few beats of silence pass to build tension, and then the winner is announced, "One Direction!” 

As the lads jump to their feet and cheer, a lady comes over the speakers, announcing that they've also won awards for British Single and British Video. They share a celebratory group hug before their significant others congratulate them. Louis bends down, engulfing Harry in his arms, and kisses his head nothing short of fifteen times.

Harry congratulates Louis, expressing how much he deserved it. The four of the boys walk up the steps to take the stage, and Niall graciously accepts the flamboyantly colored BRIT award from Emma Watson. Louis is pushed to speak since he's the most eloquent and sober of the quartet. 

“I just wanna start off by giving a massive shout out to the fans!” Louis exclaims into the microphone. He pauses as the majority of the arena bursts into cheers. “We wouldn't be here without you, so thank you so, so much for all your support and for streaming our music. It means the absolute world to us.” he looks to Harry who’s applauding as he speaks, clinging to every word. “Obviously, a big thanks to our team, to Julian our producer, our record label, thank you all so much. I'm also gonna take the time to personally thank the person who’s kept me afloat for the last year, my boyfriend, Harry. I love you so much, and so much of what I do is because of you.” Music starts to play, indicating Louis is running out of time to speak. “Uh, so just one last general thank you to the fans! We hope you enjoy the next album, it'll be here soon. Goodnight everyone!” 

The focus returns to the host, so the boys are able to exit the stage without disrupting the flow of the broadcast. Louis returns to his seat beside Harry who seems to be touched by his speech. “I wanted the world to know how much I love you.” he whispers, taking one of Harry’s hands in mine.

Harry’s eyes are teary, but finally for good reason. He isn't sad in this moment. “I love you, thank you for making me feel like the most special person in the entire world.” 

“That's how you make me feel everyday, love.” Louis brushes a piece of Harry’s hair out of his face. The foundation has started to fade ever-so-slightly, but Harry still looks as beautiful as ever. “I was thinking you and I should ditch this place, go somewhere, anywhere, you wanna go.”

“Okay.” Harry whispers.

“Where do you wanna go?” 

Harry thinks for a moment, but the idea comes rather quickly. “It’ll be a surprise.” 

Louis doesn’t object, instead leans over to tell Zayn the two of them are going to leave come the next commercial break. As always, Zayn is supportive, giving him a pat on the back, and tells him to “have fun” before Gigi pulls his attention away. 

The next performer, Rihanna, struts on stage, and once she’s finished with her elaborate performance, the show cuts to commercial. Louis stands first, gives Harry a moment to get himself situated, and the two of them slowly walk past through the throngs celebrities and tables plotted on the main floor. They make it to the back hallway where Harry takes the time to call for a cab. Once he's finished, they walk outside to wait.

“I hope you like where I take you.” Harry says.

Louis laughs, “I’d go anywhere with you Harry.” 

Harry can’t help but smile at that adamant statement. He supposes it’s representative of how much Louis loves him. 

The cab slides up to the curb, and Louis holds the door open for Harry. There’s enough room for him to slide his crutches inside. Before the driver even has the chance to ask where he’s taking them, Harry leans forward, whispering a few words in his ear. “Seriously?” he asks. Harry nods. “Well, alright.” 

“He sounded rather surprised.” Louis comments, staring at Harry, who glimmers underneath each streetlight the car passes under. “I’m a bit nervous now.”

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t be. I just want you to meet someone is all.” Confusion must cross over Louis’ face because Harry leans over, clutching his kneecap. “It’s not much, I promise.” 

About half an hour passes, and the driver tunes the radio every so often. At one point, Louis’ voice comes through the speakers with the music of One Direction's new single playing behind him. “Oi, this is a great song innit? Love this lad’s voice.” The driver calls back to them. 

Louis flushes despite the driver not making the connection between the singer on the radio and the person sat in his backseat. It’s okay though, Louis would rather keep the attention away from himself at this point. 

Finally, the headlights shine on a metal gate as they pull to a stop. At first glance, Louis has no idea where they are, then he sees a large plot of grass beyond the gate extending all the way to a small creek. On the grass are many tombstones, most of which have not been touched, but a few seem to have just been placed. “A cemetery?” he asks, quietly. God, he hasn’t been to a cemetery since his nan died, and he was only a little boy then. It’s been almost twelve years since he’s walked through an area known to be surrounded by death.

Harry doesn’t say a word, in fact he doesn’t speak until they’re both out of the car and walking down the small gravel trail, leading them to what Louis can only hope is an explanation.

It’s cold, and as they approach the water the temperature drops. Louis crosses his arms over his chest, shivering, as he follows behind Harry. 

“My dad’s buried here.” Harry explains, calmly. “When I was younger I copped rides from anyone I could, and I would just come here to sit around, right by the water. A lot of times I would draw.” he says. “Mum would get so mad because I never told her where I was. I’d come home covered in dirt, sometimes leaves. She lost her head each and everytime.” 

Louis stifles a laugh. It sounds like teenage Harry is the same as young adult Harry, stubborn and strong-willed. “You probably worried her to death.” 

“Oh I did, believe me. God, I haven’t been here since my senior year of Uni. I tried to come visit him at least once a month, but then life happened, I guess.” Harry pauses in front of a headstone reading Beloved Brother, Husband, and Father Desmond R. Styles, his date of birth, and date of passing. A picture of him in his police uniform is engraved on one side while a police badge is branded into the opposing side. “Sit with me?” Harry suggests. 

His dad is buried adjacent to the creek, it's bluish water sparkling under the moonlight, in between a few oak trees. It’s a serene scene, Louis can understand why Harry would come here to draw and think. It must have given him peace of mind “Of course. Do you-” He starts to offer to help Harry, but upon seeing him drop his crutches and use the tree as a means of support to lower himself to the ground, he stops talking- “The waters quite pretty.” 

Harry leans against one of the trees. “I’ll have to show you my old sketchbook. I was obsessed with nature for a while.” 

“Really?” Louis asks. “I never pegged you as the appreciating grass sort of guy.” 

“Not grass, but pinecones, flowers, leaves, that sort of thing. I did animals for a little while too, but I was shit at it.” Harry laughs, peering over at the water. “I’ve gone through a lot of different phases, but portraits are more my style. You in particular, you’re more my style, I seem to draw you a lot.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Why me?” 

“Well, aside from the fact that I’m absolutely infatuated with you, you’re classically beautiful. I could put you in any decade or theme, and it would work. I’m telling you babe, you would be one hell of a model. If Saint Laurent or, or Gucci sponsored you, you could go far with it.” 

“That’s sweet, Harry. I’m just not comfortable with putting myself out there like that.” he says, truthfully. “But I’m delighted to hear that you like to paint me.” 

“It’s not even that I like to though, you know? Like I don’t know, I open my eyes in the morning you’re the first thing I see, when I go to bed, you’re the last thing I see, and I’m really grateful for you. It just makes sense.” 

“You’ll have to show me sometime, yeah?” He shifts positions so he’s sitting beside Harry. “Can you believe we’re sitting in a cemetery in designer clothing after one of the biggest events in British culture? If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.” 

“Yeah.” Harry looks down at his lap with a laugh. He hesitates before speaking again, “You know I do have to tell you something, and I hope now is an appropriate time.”  

Heat rises to Louis’ cheeks as his expression crumbles. His insides start to churn, stomach knotting as he sits in the tense silence. “What?”

“After Jean left for Kenya with her other recruits, a different woman rang me.” 

Louis scans Harry’s face in anticipation for further explanation. He starts to relax after realizing Harry isn’t exposing something dire to him. “Alright…” 

“This lady, Margaret, is from the Museum of Modern Art, and she’s hosting a new artist exhibition for a weekend. She wants me to fly out to New York for it, and I - I don’t expect you to help pay for the expenses or anything, but I’m going to go.” 

“Oh my God.” Louis breathes, grabbing Harry’s biceps, and tugs him forward. Their eyes meet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, love? I’m so proud of you!” he kisses him, tangling one hand in the back of his hair. He presses their foreheads together as he talks, “Fucking New York City. That’s such a big deal, when is it?” 

Harry laughs, “Soon. A few weeks.” 

“I’m going with you,” Louis declares, out of breath from pure excitement, “if that’s okay.” he adds as an afterthought.

“Yes, it’s okay, I really wanted you to come along.” Harry kisses him, again, smiling against his lips, “Thank you for being so supportive.” 

When they arrive home later that night it’s nearly one in the morning, but Louis isn’t physically near exhaustion. London is a city which never sleeps, cars continue to rush by, the occasional honk sounds through side streets, and every once a while an alarmed scream echoes through the windows. 

He sits on the couch, now dressed in only a pair of sweatpants, with a bottle of Cola in his hand. The BRIT awards highlights play on the television with commentary from a few news anchors. This is surely the life of every multi-millionaire popstar. 

Harry walks into the living room, sketchbook tucked under his arm, and sits down beside Louis. “I don’t think you’ve seen my sketchbook. It’s like a running tab of my life.” he announces, placing the black bound book on Louis’ lap. “Starts from the middle of my senior year of secondary school.” Louis flips to the first page. A scattering of faces are on the page along with some doodles and sentences. Like Harry said earlier at the cemetery, drawings of trees and flowers are randomly placed on the page. “Those are lyrics. I used to pen songs, but they weren't very good.” 

“Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times.” Louis says to himself. “That’s not bad, Harry. Is there more to it?” 

“Throughout the book, yeah, it’s not very good though, don’t pay too much attention to it.” Harry says, nonchalantly. 

Louis doesn’t say anything. He’s curious about Harry’s songwriting. While every person seems to have a short phase where they think they can be songwriters, Harry’s ambition carries on for years, judging by the length of the book. “Ah, is this Perrie?” Louis asks, pointing to a particular face on the page.

“Yeah, and that’s my sister.” Harry points to a different graphite portrait. “Be aware there’s quite a bit of Chris Martin in there, I fancied him growing up.” 

“Oh, I’m so jealous. I can hardly stand it.” Louis kids, turning to another page. Some of the sketches tug at his heartstrings because there’s pent up emotion behind them, while others make him laugh because they’re so dry and sarcastic only Harry would think to draw them. He goes through every emotion while flipping through page after page of sketch and lyric. Harry rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder, looking down at his book as Louis scans through it. 

This intimate setting carries for a few hours, but about halfway through Harry falls asleep slumped against Louis, head propped against his shoulder. 

As Louis approaches the end on his own, more sketches of himself are evident, and there’s a multitude of hearts and bright colors, showing the transformation of Harry’s state of mind. The word ‘Love’ is written in all caps and highlighted in hues of red and pink. Flowers and hearts are displayed all over the page, and Louis knows this was most likely the turning point in their relationship. 

When he turns to the next, it’s blank, hopefully meaning there’s much more to his story with Harry. He wishes for there to be so much to come that it fills ten, one hundred, one thousand more sketchbooks.

He sets the book down, then with a hand to Harry's shoulder, shakes him awake, “Come on love, let’s go lay down in bed.”

Harry lethargically blinks a few times, then swallows to moisten his dry throat, “But I’m comfortable here. I don’t want to move.”

“Only you would be comfortable sleeping while sitting up, you goof.” Louis doesn’t have much of a chance to argue. Harry’s eyes slide shut and he’s drifting back into a cycle of REM before he’s even done speaking his first thought. “Alright, you win Styles.” he wraps his arm around Harry, and they slowly sit back.

It takes a moment to dawn on him, but he understands now that this past year has been worth it all. He doesn’t feel like a bland superstar anymore, instead he feels like he has purpose outside of making music. He’s learned so much about a community he once had no knowledge in, and when a problem comes his way, he can now work to solve it. 

He possesses the power to care about someone, and while it may feel like he cares too much at times, it doesn’t matter. His heart is finally full now that something outside the scheme of material things matters to him. 

Harry Styles was a blessing in disguise. They’ve been through hell and high water to be together, and yet, they’re still so happy to be united as one. As much as Harry helped him, he helped Harry find a will to live and inspire. 

There’s still a long road to travel on with Harry, a road filled with sharp turns and roundabouts, but his goal of self-acceptance is closer than he ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in all her glory, this massive story is complete. thank you for sticking with me over the year and a half it took me to write. much love to everyone. emily

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to give me a follow on twitter @terrestrialhaz (we can be super cool mutuals!)


End file.
